


Curiosity

by Laiquilasse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beta Mycroft, Beta Sherlock, Family Issues, Family Secrets, First Time, Frottage, Holmes Brothers, Inheritance, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Sherlock, Omega Verse, References to Knotting, Rimming, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unpresented Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-08-29 09:59:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8484985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laiquilasse/pseuds/Laiquilasse
Summary: John starts a new job as a university lecturer, and is shocked when one of his second-year students is an Unpresented - they have no secondary gender. And although this student asks him not to try and figure out what he is, John just can't seem to leave him, or his mysterious lack of gender, alone.And with family pressure forcing Sherlock to find a mate to fall back on 'just in case', the last thing either of them are thinking about is studying.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops, I seem to have to started another fic before finishing others. Again. Oh, dear. :D

John scanned the list of students, holding his yellow highlighter at the ready.

A, B, B, A, A, A, O

John marked a blob of yellow beside the ‘O’ student. An omega student. John was an alpha, and Official University Protocol insisted that he should never be alone with an omega student. If they needed one-to-one support, they would need to bring a chaperone, or meet in a public place. Not in the privacy of John’s tiny office.

He scanned the list again, finding another ‘O’. Two in a class. Unusual. Not many omegas went to uni. Many of them were mated and pregnant by the time they were eighteen. And this was a class of second-years, all nineteen and twenty. He felt a flush of pride at the students’ resilience. It was good to see them defying social norms, and studying.

He checked over the list again, making sure there were no ‘O’s remaining, when he spotted it.

‘U’.

John raised his eyebrows.

‘U’ meant ‘unpresented’.

For a student to be unpresented at nineteen was rare. Not unheard of, but very rare. John checked the name, and typed it into his laptop.

_WILLIAM S. S. HOLMES_

A profile popped up, showing a first-year photograph of a boy with dark hair, and a slightly surprised expression. He had dark hair and looked like neither alpha or omega. If John had to guess, he would have said the boy was a beta, but even they presented specific scent patterns. Only children had a zero-scent.

John squirmed a bit. An adult with a blank, child-like innocent scent would be… disconcerting, to say the least. He clicked on the boy’s reports, and was interested to see very high grades from last year.

And two no-shows for failure to hand essays in.

How had this boy managed such high overall grades with two unmarked essays? He must have gotten close to perfect scores in everything else.

John clicked the no-show reports.

_Holmes failed to hand in his report on alpha-omega bonding bites. Excuse given: This was tiresome._

Interesting. And the second:

 _Holmes failed to hand in his report on omega sexual maturity. Excuse given: I don’t need to know this_.

John sat back in his office chair. This William Holmes had the arrogance of an alpha, but judging by his photo he lacked the thickness of body and musculature that might have accompanied such a status. Still, maybe he was an alpha with a low level of testosterone. That would explain why he was still unpresented.

John picked up his highlighter and blobbed yellow beside the boy’s name. Best not to be alone with him, just to be on the safe side. He needed this lecturing job, he couldn’t afford to overstep the mark and get sacked, interesting unpresented student or not.

 

*

 

The students filed in, all of them chatting and looking happy to be back at uni after the summer break. John spotted the omega students immediately – they were real beauties, and one of them had a bond-bite that looked fresh. That was a relief. The girl wouldn’t be a distraction, she had a mate. The gorgeous boy, however, swaggered into the room with the overconfidence of an omega close to heat, and John made a mental note to check if the boy’s attendance was good.

Then there was a break in the wall of scents. Like a missed step when going down the stairs.

John looked up.

A dark-haired young man walked past him to the seats, a trail of blankness following him. The other students ignored him, as though they were used to it, but the lack of scent made John blink, his brain struggling to compute how someone could look so adult and yet be… nothing. This was William, then.

The confusion vanished after a moment, and the student took his seat. He wasn’t sitting with anyone.

John cleared his throat and started the lesson, introducing himself, and beginning the first lesson on cellular forensics.

 

*

 

“Doctor Watson?”

John looked up as the students filed out. William, the unpresented boy, was standing in front of him with a note. “Can I help you?”

“I should hope so.” The boy flapped the note. “I won’t be here tomorrow, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” John took the note. _Medical Appointment_. “Sorry to hear that. Nothing serious, I hope?”

“Another presentation blood test,” William rolled his eyes. “Waste of my time.”

“I see. Well, thank you for the note. I can email you the homework,” John said, smiling pleasantly, his brain putting two and two together and getting five as he tried to classify the boy with his medical eye. Tall. Alpha. Slim. Omega. Confident. Alpha. Pretty. Omega.

“Thank you,” William nodded. “Could I schedule a tutorial as well, for catch-up?” He smiled, and John was almost sure he was given a once-over by the student. He tensed, slightly. This was not what he’d had in mind.

“Sure. We could meet in the coffee shop on Friday lunchtime?”

“I don’t like coffee,” the student smirked.

John’s inner alpha grumbled in annoyance at being told ‘no’. “Tea, then.”

“Can’t we use your office? I don’t like sharing my one-to-one time with other ears.” The student folded his arms, and John was almost certain the boy was an alpha from the way he was arguing.

“Fine,” John sighed, “but you’ll need to bring a chaperone.”

“I’m not an omega, Doctor Watson,” William raised an eyebrow. “I’m not in any danger from your rampant masculinity.”

 _Alpha. One hundred per cent. Blood test be damned, he’s got to be an alpha._ “Alright. Friday at one,” John snapped his briefcase closed, wishing he was taller, so he could glare down at the probable-alpha with the right amount of dominance.

“Wonderful,” William beamed, putting his hands in his pockets. “See you Friday, Doctor Watson. And do try and stop attempting to deduce my secondary gender. Doctors have been trying since I was fourteen, and I doubt that an ex-army doctor with a history of PTSD and a lack of experience with anyone who isn’t an alpha and toting a gun is going to figure it out before I do.”

“Sorry,” John spluttered. “I mean, I’m sorry if I offended you –”

“You didn’t offend me,” the student’s expression softened slightly. “I’m used to new people trying to figure out what I am. It doesn’t matter. But stop doing it quite so obviously. I dislike it.”

John nodded. “No problem. For the record, I don’t much care what your gender is, as long as you hand in your work and turn up to lectures. Appointments aside.” He realised they were alone in the lecture hall. If the boy had given any hint he was an omega after all, this would be very dangerous. As it was, John felt… nothing. Well, not quite nothing. He felt calm enough, and he liked this boy, despite the attitude… He picked up his briefcase.

“Excuse me, William, I need to get to the staff room.”

“William?” the boy blinked. “You don’t pay much attention after all, do you?”

“Excuse me?” John snapped.

“William isn’t my chosen name,” the boy took out his wallet, and pulled out his student ID. “Here.”

_Name: William Holmes._

_Chosen name: Sherlock Holmes_

“Sherlock,” John said, trying out the new name. “Sorry, my computer only showed me your… other name.”

“I see,” Sherlock took his ID back, his long fingers brushing John’s hand. “Well, now you know. See you Friday, Doctor.”

“Thank you, Sherlock,” John held the door open for him and showed him out, feeling quite bizarre as he smelled that empty scent, again. He’d been wrong, before. It didn’t smell child-like, at all. It smelled of intrigue, and curiosity, and… John’s finger slipped on the keys as he tried to lock up. He turned around, and Sherlock – the mystery boy – was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock comes for his tutorial, but he isn't interested in catching up with class. He has a secret to tell John, and he needs his help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update! Thanks for being patient with me, guys xx

John didn’t think much of Sherlock over the next few days, aside from marking him as an authorised absence on the day of his appointment. So when he checked his diary for Friday, he felt a tingle of surprise and anticipation at their scheduled lunchtime tutorial.

The boy certainly was interesting.

John opened the student-records on his laptop, and gave Sherlock’s a quick scan. Aside from grades, and names, there was nothing to help John know what sort of student he would be dealing with.

John was just finishing a sandwich and coffee as he marked papers when the knock to his door came, five minutes early. He rolled his eyes, and went to the door, meaning to ask Sherlock to come back five minutes later, but…

“Hello,” Sherlock smiled, radiating a clean scent of outdoors, and nothing else. He was wearing a fitted shirt, and a loose scarf, and god almighty it was illegal for him to look this nice, especially when… God.

John’s good intentions dried up in his mouth. “Hi,” he croaked out. “Come in, I’m just… finishing off.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock slipped into the office, and stood, looking at the mountains of books on the shelves. “Are these all yours, Doctor Watson?”

“It’s John. And no, the last occupant hasn’t completely moved out, yet. That’s the thing with being on a temp contract. They just put you wherever there’s a desk…” John tidied his marking away, and swallowed a mouthful of cooling coffee before insisting Sherlock take a seat. “So, I sent you over the homework –”

“I’ve done it,” Sherlock pulled a plastic wallet out of his bag, neat lines of writing in blue ink.

John took it. “I only sent it you last night.”

“Yes, well, I dislike having unfinished tasks.”

“Ok…” John put the essay on his pile of marking. “Thank you. The lecture you missed –”

“I’m not really interested in the missed lecture,” Sherlock interrupted again. “I hardly think it’s relevant.”

John stared. “The lecture was on the difference in blood types between immature and mature omega males.”

“I know.”

“And you don’t think you need to know that? This is a forensic science degree, Sherlock. There’s no knowledge that isn’t worth gaining.”

Sherlock scoffed.

“Not when it’s being taught on your degree, and you need to know it to pass exams and assignments.”

“It’s not a problem if you score well enough in other areas.”

“Sherlock… this isn’t a game, it’s your education.” John folded his arms. “And why did you request a tutorial if you didn’t want to catch up on the lecture?”

Sherlock adjusted his scarf, a fresh scent of emptiness hitting John’s nose, and erasing the alpha annoyance that had been brewing under his skin. Sherlock suddenly looked like a chastised omega –

“You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” John realised.

“Hm?” Sherlock looked up, shyly.

“You know how omegas act, and you’re mimicking it.”

Sherlock paused, then grinned wickedly. “Not many people spot that. You’re not as dense as I thought.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean… everyone is stupid. I find that if I adopt certain characteristics, people stop trying to scent me, or stare me into somehow presenting. Depending on the circumstances, and the gender of the opposite party, it can work rather well.”

“So, if you needed something from an omega..?”

“A concerned alpha persona works well. Likewise if there’s an alpha in my face, a contrite Beta often works better than a catty omega. It’s something I’ve learned to do. Not many people spot it.”

“But without scent…”

“Scenting is only one marker of gender, in our day to day interactions. And in a crowd, scents can be easily lost and mixed. Why else would mates insist on scenting one another when they both meet after work?”

“I don’t know,” John uncrossed his arms, “I always assumed it was something to do with loving the person.”

“Love,” Sherlock huffed out a laugh, then stopped. “I don’t know about that.”

John cleared his throat and rested his elbows on his desk. “So, if you didn’t want to recap the missed lecture… what do you want to discuss? You have about half an hour left.”

“I wanted to discuss this,” Sherlock rolled up his right sleeve and planted his forearm, palm up, on the desk.

John frowned, and leaned to look.

A plaster lay at the crook of the student’s elbow. Sherlock reached, and tore it off quickly. Beneath it were a myriad of raised puncture scars, like braille.

“That’s… that’s a lot of blood tests,” John looked at his face.

“One per month, every month, since I was fifteen,” Sherlock said quietly.

“…why?” John wanted to touch the skin, to examine the scars properly, but he daren’t. “All presentation tests?”

“Indeed,” Sherlock pulled his sleeve down.

John stared. “But you will present. You’re nineteen, but it’s not exactly outside the realms of normality.”

“It’s not that simple,” Sherlock said quietly. “My family… there are three of us, children. My eldest brother is a beta. The middle one, alpha. And then me.”

“Your parents want one of each?” John frowned.

“No… They…” Sherlock pressed his lips together. “What do you know about inheritance laws, Doctor Watson?”

John sat back. “I see. But if you are an alpha, too, surely they can half it? I didn’t know many families still went down the alpha line.”

“Some do,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “And it isn’t that. My middle brother… he isn’t well. He’s… in an institution.”

John nodded. “They want you to be an alpha, so they can justify making you his carer, am I right?”

“Yes. Carer, and sole recipient of wealth. If I am an omega, or a beta… Eurus gets everything, and will most likely die young and childless, which, apparently, would be terrible.”

John chose his next words carefully. “But if you were an omega, and you bonded with an alpha… that would be a solution?”

“One they remind me of constantly,” Sherlock’s voice sounded tight. “The worst result for them would be beta, as the line would be cut off entirely, but it’s what I want. I want to be a beta. I don’t want to care for Eurus, or have to mate with some stranger they choose for me. Doctor Watson…” Sherlock leaned forward, and John knew he wasn’t putting on his pleading eyes, this time. They were real. “Doctor Watson, I know you barely know me, but I’m asking you… can you arrange for me to have a private internal exam? Off the books.”

John’s eyes went wide. “That’s something they haven’t done, then?”

“Not yet. I’d have to consent to it, and I have refused every time. But I wonder for how much longer they’ll let me get away with it.”

“Sherlock…” John cleared his throat, “even if you have an internal, there’s no way to be sure. If you’re a beta, you could still have a womb.”

“But I could erase the possibility of alpha from the equation,” Sherlock said. “Prepare for what could happen next.”

“And what then? Your parents would probably marry you to an alpha and wait to see if you ever went into oestrus.”

Sherlock shook his head. “More likely they’d get one to bite me.”

John put a hand over his mouth. Forced bonding was a disgusting crime, rumoured to still be practiced in the upper classes, to secure family lines. “You’re sure?”

“I know they would,” Sherlock said sadly.

John pushed his chair back. “I’m teaching at St Bart’s hospital, this evening. Come over around seven, and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock stood, too. “Thank you for… listening to me.”

“It’s the least I can do,” John smiled. “Room M23, seven pm.”

Sherlock nodded, and let himself out of the office.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John leads a lecture on anatomy, and Sherlock comes for his test.

John clicked to the next slide, showing a lithograph of internal anatomy. “Can anyone tell me what we’re looking at, here?”

A few hands went up.

“Yes?”

“That’s an omega female.”

“Correct,” John clicked again, and the answer appeared beside the diagram. “And what are the key features that define this individual as such?”

More hands. John chose a beta student to answer.

“All female-bodies have uteri,” the student reeled off, “and vaginas. But alpha women don’t have functional ovaries, and this one looks like they’re fully developed.”

“But how do we know this isn’t a beta woman?” John asked.

“Because of the size of the uterus,” another student interrupted. “It’s large, for multiple births.”

“And,” John pointed with his laser pen, “these muscles here. They contract around a knot when mating with an alpha during a heat.”

There were some giggles, which John ignored, and he went to the next slide.

“How about this one?”

There was a pause, and a few mutters.

“Well, it’s a male,” someone laughed.

“Yes, well done,” John rolled his eyes. “What gave that away, Jones?”

“Well, his –”

“And what else can we see from this individual’s _penis_?” John drawled the word out, making the student blush.

“It’s… not that big.”

“Well put, sparing this chap some embarrassment,” John pointed with the laser again. “This man’s penis is not the larger size you _might_ – and I say might, because don’t get your hopes up next time you’re dating one – find on an alpha male. By contrast,” John moved the slide across, “here’s a male alpha diagram, and you can see the penis is larger, and with the additional glands at the base, to form a knot if necessary.” He clicked back to the previous slide. “So, not an alpha. An omega, perhaps?”

“They’re got a uterus,” a girl squinted. “But… sometimes betas have uteri, don’t they?”

“That’s right, well done,” John nodded. “There were, back in the day, some theories that betas are simply omegas who never develop correctly. Now, those ideas are very much frowned upon, as discriminatory and unfair – betas, as you’ll know, have their own unique scents, and female betas can bear children as the males can produce sperm. They are not broken, or underdeveloped, by any means. Now, this individual,” John pointed, “is a beta male. His uterus is small, but more importantly, he lacks the developed muscles needed to lock an alpha’s knot inside him. A blood test on a mature individual would confirm this, as would a test of the individual’s ejaculate. Ok, last one for today…”

The slides clicked through, to a picture almost identical to the one just shown. But not quite.

“Now you know what to look for, you’ll see this is an omega male. He has a uterus, slightly larger than the beta counterpart, and functional ovaries. He also has larger, more developed muscles along his birth canal. His testes and penis are there, but smaller than a beta’s, at least in this instance – again, this does vary from person to person – and he is unable to produce sperm.” John closed the slideshow and turned the lights back on. “So, for your homework, I want you to essay and discuss the differences between primary and secondary genders in terms of having children. Two thousand words, including any diagrams. Thank you.”

The students gathered their things, and talked to one another as they packed up and left, some of them giggling, and others looking embarrassed at the slideshow.

John sighed. Next week there’d be real life individuals to examine, and that would be a riot. He was just gathering his briefcase, when a student stood at the back of the lecture hall. “Sh – Sherlock?”

“Nice lecture, Doctor Watson,” Sherlock came down the steps. “Very accurate.”

“Yes, well, gynaecology and urology students,” John shrugged. “It’s my job.”

Sherlock smiled, just a little. “Do you miss practicing medicine?”

“Sometimes,” John nodded. “But I’m actually enjoying teaching more than I thought I would.” He inhaled, trying to find something to say, and got a lungful of Sherlock’s empty scent.

His stomach swooped, a little.

That was odd.

Sherlock shifted on the wooden floor. “Did you… find someone who could help me?”

John shook his head. “I asked, subtly, in the staff rooms, about off the books procedures. Unfortunately, it’s a sackable offence.”

“Oh…” Sherlock hitched his bag higher onto his shoulder. “I see. Well… thank you for trying.”

“I could – ” John said, stopping as he tried to tone down his eagerness to assist. “I could… I can’t do you an internal, but I could give you an ultrasound.”

Sherlock pressed his mouth closed, and seemed to be thinking.

“I understand if it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to –”

“Can we do it now?”

“Yes, we can… there’s a machine in the room next door.”

Sherlock nodded. “Ok… I suppose it’s better than nothing.”

John clicked the lights off the led the way into the small examination room, locking them inside and drawing the blind down. “Have you had one before?”

“No…”

“Ok, just roll your shirt up to your chest, and pull your trousers to just below your hips…” John switched on the machine and started hunting for gloves.

“Do I have to lie on the bed?”

“Is that ok?”

Sherlock hesitated, and for a moment he looked like a shy omega here for his first pregnancy scan, and John’s heart ached for him.

“Sherlock, you don’t have to –”

“I can do this,” he said, more to himself than to John, it seemed. He dropped his bag and jacket on a chair, and climbed on the padded bed, arranging his clothes.

John passed him a sheet of paper. “Tuck that into the front of your trousers, like an apron. I have to put gel on your skin, and it might stain them.”

Sherlock did so, tucking the tissue paper in, and pushing his trousers down so John could just see a few curls of dark hair. “Is that far enough?”

“I think so…” John snapped on his gloves, and tested the wand. “Seems ready to go…” he picked up the gel bottle. “This is going to be cold, sorry…”

“Ah!” Sherlock tensed as the gel hit his bare, white, skin. Goosebumps rose up, and he glared at John for a moment, before looking at the screen.

“Ok…” John pressed the wand into the gel, and moved it slightly, getting his bearings. “Ok… there’s your insides…”

“Right,” Sherlock croaked as John pressed firmly down.

“Sorry, am I hurting you?”

“It’s not painful.”

John rotated the wand. “Getting a great shot of your bladder, at any rate…”

“Uh-huh…” Sherlock was biting his lip as he watched the screen.

“Can you just roll onto your left slightly?”

Sherlock did so.

“Kidneys…” John moved the wand back down to Sherlock’s pelvis, pressing hard to try and see further inside him.

“Ow,” Sherlock whispered.

“Do you want me to stop? If I can’t see a uterus, you’ve got to be an alpha –”

“Keep looking,” Sherlock glanced at the screen.

John did so, putting a gloved hand on Sherlock’s body to move him slightly, improving the view. It didn’t feel intimate. It felt strictly medical, and as though he could really help this boy…

“A-ha,” John said suddenly.

Sherlock tensed. “What?”

“Found a uterus,” John said. "Stay very still, Sherlock, I’m going to try and measure it, see if your ovaries are developing…”

Sherlock stayed very still, and John took pictures, measuring the size of the small organs before helping Sherlock lie flat again, and switching the lights back on.

“Here,” John handed him a box of wet wipes. “Sorry, I hope that wasn’t too uncomfortable.”

“So what am I?” Sherlock asked, wiping his skin clean of gel.

“Well, you’re not an alpha,” John said. “But I’m sorry, it wasn’t clear enough to see any better than that. You could have an MRI, but there’s no way I could sneakily give you one of those. But… you said you’d be ok if alpha was out of the equation?”

Sherlock sat up, bunching the tissue paper and binning it, pulling his clothes back on properly. “I… I thought I’d feel relieved.”

Oh, no.

John took his gloves off. “Do you wish you didn’t know?”

“I don’t know…” Sherlock wrapped his arms around himself. “I… I’m not an alpha. So either I have to be bonded, or I’m a genetic dead-end. Betas can’t make alpha babies, even if I had to get married…” he put a hand to his mouth. “Yes. I wish I didn’t know. I’m sorry I made you do this,” he stood quickly.

John caught his arm. “Hey – you didn’t make me do anything. I wanted to help you. I know it’s come as a shock, but I’ll help you through the rest, if you need me to. I can sort you out some counselling, or  -”

“I don’t want anyone else to know,” Sherlock’s jaw was tight.

“Then you can tell me,” John said. “I’m your teacher, it’s my job to look after you. If I think you’re in danger, I’ll do what I can to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” Sherlock spluttered. “By rights you shouldn’t even be alone with me. We know that, now.”

“You might not be an omega –”

“And if I’m not, that could be even worse,” Sherlock looked away, and John wondered if he was hiding tears. “I’ve seen my brother disinherited, Doctor Watson, and I’m not as strong as him. I don’t know what to _do_.”

John’s alpha instincts took over, and he stood, wrapping the youngster in his arms, holding him tight, surrounding him in alpha pheromones, making him calm almost instantly. “You will be alright, Sherlock,” John said softly, resting his head on Sherlock’s dark curls. “You will be fine. I know it doesn’t seem that way now, but you will be. No matter your gender, I want to help you. Ok?”

Sherlock nodded, turning slightly to be held properly, and John let him.

 _Danger_.

They stayed still for a few moments, and John was the one to break the hug.

“Where are you going now?”

“Back to my room,” Sherlock sighed. “I’m in the omega-beta block.”

“You ok walking on your own?”

“Fine,” Sherlock nodded. “I could use the time to think.” He picked up his bag and coat. “Thank you… John. For checking. I… I will be able to make a plan, now.”

“You’re welcome,” John said honestly. “I’ll see you…”

“Friday,” Sherlock said. “Haematology lecture.”

“So it is…” John almost went for another hug, but reined himself in. “You take care, Sherlock. You can email me any time.”

Sherlock smiled sadly, and unlocked the door to let himself out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has guilt, Sherlock is worried, and Mycroft is on the scene.

It took John a few days to get over the guilt of using the ultrasound equipment without asking, and the uneasiness of Sherlock’s reaction. John realised, now, that the boy had been hoping, despite what he said in the office, that he was an alpha. It would have made his situation so much easier – he could have had much more bodily autonomy, inherited, and even put off bonding, if he wished. Being told he was either beta or omega seemed to have sent him into shock.

Nevertheless, Sherlock was there on the Friday, taking notes in the lecture as if nothing had ever happened. John tried, twice, to catch his eye, but soon gave up and concentrated on teaching. If Sherlock was done with his help, so be it.

John would be there, if he needed it again, same as he would be for any student.

Except he wasn’t thinking about _any_ student as he turned the lights out in his office that night, and went home for the weekend.

He was only thinking about one.

 

*

 

“Omega heats,” John said, causing a ripple of amusement to go through the students. The two omegas in the room looked at one another for solidarity, and the alpha students were nudging one another. The betas looked mildly interested.

And Sherlock looked sick.

“Can anyone tell me what the inpatient procedure would be for receiving an omega in hospital?” John asked.

A hand went up. “They need to have their mate with them?”

“No,” John shook his head. “Read an up to date textbook, Kevin.”

“They need some sort of chaperone?” someone else tried.

The omega boy on the front row rolled his eyes. “Omegas can’t be received as inpatients. It’s a trick question.”

“Quite right, Peter,” John smiled at him, and got a scowl in response. “If 999 is called for an omega emergency, then a doctor must go to them. Why?”

“Because stress and injury can make omegas go into heat,” Peter drawled.

“Thank you. It is extremely likely that high stress, injury, or illness will make an omega go into heat. Now, stress-heats are not the same as a normal cycle heat. For starters, the chances of conception are incredibly low, even if the omega is knotted –”

Someone snorted with embarrassed laughter.

John put his hands on his hips. “Jaycie, feel free to leave, if you can’t cope with finding out how babies are made.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Where was I… Ah. Yes, if an omega needs medical attention, they must be seen to by a beta or omega medical professional, for obvious reasons.”

“What if the alpha doctor is bonded?” an alpha student asked. “Wouldn’t they be ok?”

John pulled a sympathetic face. “It’s not a risk the NHS is willing to take. Practice is to send a beta or omega.”

Sherlock shifted in his seat a little, making John look at him for the first time in over a week. The boy looked drawn, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well.

“Can anyone tell me how many stages there are to an omega heat? Someone who isn’t an omega, that’d be great…”

The lesson wrapped up with John setting homework, and tidying away his laptop.

He wasn’t in the least surprised when Sherlock loitered behind.

“Hello,” John said, once the last students had cleared off. “You ok? You look tired.”

“Thanks,” Sherlock scowled, before sighing. “I’ve had a few late nights… I was wondering… if you wanted to get a coffee?”

John looked up sharply. “For a tutorial..?” he left the question hanging.

“Not exactly, but nothing… else, either,” Sherlock actually looked a bit grossed out.

John stamped down his alpha annoyance, and picked his bag up. “Ok, then. I’ve got an hour.”

“Ok…” Sherlock followed him out, looking mournful all the way to the student coffee shop.

“Oh, it’s full,” John stood in the doorway.

“No, someone’s saving us a seat,” Sherlock pointed at a red-headed man in a grey suit, reading something on his phone. “That’s my brother.”

Ice ran through John’s veins. “Sherlock, what on _earth_?”

“You’re not in trouble, I promise,” Sherlock said quickly. “He’s my beta brother, he… he knows what you did, to help me, and he wants to speak to you.”

“Why?” John rasped.

“Just, come on…” Sherlock slumped over, and John had no choice but to follow. “Mycroft,” Sherlock sighed.

The besuited man looked up, and pocketed his phone in his jacket. “Sherlock. And this must be Doctor John Watson.” He held out a hand, and John shook it. “Do sit down.” It wasn’t a request.

Sherlock slumped into a chair, and John took his carefully, wondering if he should have turned the voice record on on his phone. Except that’s how they caught Nixon. Best to avoid any record.

“Now,” the eldest Holmes steepled his fingers. “Sherlock told me, last night, that you… assisted him. In finding out his secondary gender.”

“I helped him,” John clarified, “but I wasn’t able to say what Sherlock’s gender is, I’m afraid.”

“He tells me we can at least rule ‘alpha’ out of the running.”

“He has a uterus,” John said, keeping his voice down. “But that’s all I know for sure.”

Mycroft nodded. “And Sherlock has told you of our family circumstances.”

“Enough, I suppose.”

“Quite…” Mycroft looked towards the order desk, and beckoned. John was about to say they didn’t do table service until a boy brought over three teas. Mycroft handed him a folded twenty-pound note, and he trotted off.

“Doesn’t seem to have done you any harm,” John had to say, “being disinherited.”

“Sherlock missing out on his inheritance is more than simple missing out on money,” Mycroft picked up his tea. “The inheritant line would drop to the next of kin, who, at the moment, is in an asylum. If he inherits, as sole heir, his carers have the responsibility for money and land and titles in their hands. And they will want him to bond, I can assure you.”

“But he’s ill?”

“That wouldn’t make a difference to our parents,” Mycroft said, icily. “If Eurus can produce children, and there’s been no medical test to suggest he can’t, he could be forced into a bond of his own. And he hasn’t the capability to deny himself an omega landed on his lap.”

Sherlock’s mouth turned down.

Mycroft replaced his cup. “I don’t wish to have _any_ omega forced into a bond. Sherlock, if he is one, or one who would end up as Eurus’ mate. It is a situation we must avoid at all costs.”

“What does this have to do with me?” John asked.

“Sherlock has a womb, he could be an omega, which, at the moment, is the safest thing for him to be – he has the potential to bond with an alpha and carry on the line, through choice. But he must not mature before he has found an alpha to bond with.”

“That’s…” John looked up. “You want him to delay his maturity? Even further than he already has?”

“Rest assured, Doctor Watson, Sherlock’s status as an Unpresented has, so far, been entirely natural. However, he will be twenty years old after Christmas, and I worry about how much time he has left.”

“You can’t delay maturity forever,” John said. “And it can wreak havoc with fertility, bone density…”

“Sherlock has assured me that he is willing to do this.”

“Sherlock?” John looked at the younger brother, who looked like he wanted to evaporate. “You’re going to find someone to mate with, just…”

“It’s better than being forced into it,” Sherlock said. “If I mature as a beta, I’m out on my ear. If I mature as an omega, I’m on the bonding bed. I don’t have a choice!”

“Oh, Sherlock, do you honestly think you’re a beta?” John snapped. “Just looking at you beside your brother is a dead giveaway!”

Sherlock’s mouth snapped shut, and he glared before looking at the table-top.

John instantly regretted his words. “Sherlock, I’m sorry –”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock snapped. “Your opinions about me, and omegas, are quite crystal.”

There was a nasty throb of silence.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “We plan to wait until Christmas, Doctor Watson. If Sherlock hasn’t shown signs of maturity by then –”

“I’ll get you the suppressants,” John said.

Except he didn’t mean that.

He meant _sorry_.

Mycroft nodded in thanks. “Are you staying here, Sherlock?”

Sherlock stood. “No.”

John didn’t protest, but pinched himself hard on the leg to stop him saying something stupid.

Both brothers departed with polite goodbyes, and John was left alone.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sherlock’s words trailed off as the alpha leaned in, nosing at the hinge of his jaw, inhaling the non-scent of his skin, down to his open collar. Sherlock’s eyes almost closed, this time. Was he enjoying it?_
> 
> *
> 
> Sherlock follows Mycroft's orders, and John is struggling to rein in his feelings.

John didn’t speak to Sherlock for two weeks.

Reading Week came along, with the students taking a week off to catch up on their coursework / go out drinking, and John was grateful for the week off lecturing, even if some of the more keen students turned up at his office more often then he would have deemed necessary.

Sherlock did not attend a tutorial. He submitted his essay electronically, and John was pleased to give him 91 / 100 for it. The only marks deducted were for the tone of the writing, which lacked a touch of professionalism, but wouldn’t make a difference overall. It was still a First, and the highest grade in the class by a mile.

John chewed his lip slightly as he submitted the feedback. Sherlock’s brother hadn’t made contact again, either. John had been lifting the bottles of suppressants, one per week. Each dose was effective for three months. If Sherlock showed any sign of presenting omega…

Except he hadn’t. In class, there was still that wall of nothingness in the scents of the students. The blank gap where _something_ should be. Anything.

John watched, when his students were taking notes, Sherlock’s careful writing and expressionless, yet interesting – no, attractive, let’s be fair – face. The boy had a womb, but that was the only conclusive piece of evidence. John even caught himself scanning through medical journals, seeing if there had ever been an alpha male with a uterus. It wasn’t entirely though morbid interest – if Sherlock was an alpha, he’d be spared the task of finding a mate in the next few years.

Though, if he did present as an omega, he’d likely be fighting them off with a stick.

Something white-hot and sickening coiled in John’s chest and stomach.

Jealousy.

The thought of other alphas… He swallowed, and pushed back from his desk, feeling rather hot. Sherlock was a student – a _student_ – he wasn’t John’s for the taking, or even thinking about. John had helped him, nothing more.

And yet, John regretted being so principled in wearing gloved during Sherlock’s ultrasound. If he had only _felt_ the young man’s skin beneath his hand, he was sure he would have been able to just _tell_ if he was a beta or omega.

No, he shook his head. No, he wouldn’t have. That was stupid.

He stood up, pressing ‘send’ on the essay feedback, and picked up his tea mug. He needed a bit of caffeine to get through the rest of this marking. He let himself out of his office to the staff kitchen, and clicked the kettle on to boil.

He was just hunting for a spare bag of crisps when he heard it.

_“Sherlock…”_

John tensed, his stomach going rigid at the name. He let the kettle continue to boil, and peeped through the gap between the door and the wall.

Sherlock was against the far wall, his facial expression utterly impassive, as one of John’s alpha students – Gregory – scented him slowly down his throat, hands on the Unpresented boy’s shoulders.

It took every ounce of self-control John had not to smash through the door and pull him off. Because Sherlock wasn’t saying ‘stop’. But he wasn’t looking like he was enjoying this, either.

“You smell like you,” Greg said, and John heard the kind smile in his voice. “I kind of like it.”

“Kind of,” Sherlock’s mouth twitched, then dropped as if it was too much effort. His arms hung limp by his sides.

“Can I scent you again?” The alpha was asking, at least.

“Ok. It won’t change anything, though. I’m…” Sherlock’s words trailed off as the alpha leaned in, nosing at the hinge of his jaw, inhaling the non-scent of his skin, down to his open collar. Sherlock’s eyes almost closed, this time. Was he enjoying it?

Greg leaned back a bit, one of his hands moving to stroke Sherlock’s throat. “I mean… it doesn’t bother me, either way… We could still, like, go out.”

“And what if I end up being a beta?” Sherlock moved away from the hand, which didn’t pursue.

“Well… plenty of alphas go with betas.”

“Not as mates.”

“No, but that’s… that’s just biology, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock turned away, looking down the corridor. “I…”

“If you were an omega, would that make a difference?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said quickly. So quickly John’s heart ached, and his fists clenched.

“Ok, but, that doesn’t make sense. You want a mate?”

“…yes,” Sherlock said, and John could hear the bitterness.

Greg folded his arms. “So, what you actually want is any alpha, not me?”

“I allowed you this close, didn’t I?” Sherlock snapped. “You’re clean, and conventionally attractive, and there’s no history of various illnesses in your family… You’re an alpha of six alpha brothers, which means you have strong genes… it just makes sense.”

“Makes sense?” Greg repeated. “You’re genuinely shopping for a mate? What if you _are_ a beta?”

“Then I won’t need one, will I?”

“So, the fact that I like you is irrelevant?”

“If I present omega, it’ll be a nice bonus, but otherwise… It doesn’t matter.”

Greg shook his head. “Right. Give me a call if you decide you want something other than a bonding bite, sometime.” And he stalked off past the kitchen doors, John smelling the disappointment radiating off him in waves.

He couldn’t help feeling mildly pleased about it.

And then the door opened onto his face.

“Ow!” He stumbled back, clutching his nose. “What –”

“Spying on people is rude,” Sherlock said, storming in. “Lestrade might be as thick as two short planks, but I am not. Don’t spy on me!”

“I wasn’t ‘spying’ spying,” John checked his fingers for blood. “I heard your name, and went to see what was going on.”

“Nothing, apparently,” Sherlock looked around the tiny kitchen room. “Finding a mate isn’t proving the easiest thing.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve tried that before?” John gawped.

“No,” Sherlock scowled. “I’ve been eliminating possible candidates from the poor of alphas I know well enough to approach safely. Lestrade offered to walk me to the library, and his body language indicated he wished to scent me. So, I offered.”

“You said ‘please scent me’?” John hoped the rush of blood to his groin wasn’t obvious.

Sherlock shrugged. “I said ‘You want to scent me, don’t you?’ and he made some sort of rasping noise before pushing me against the wall, there.”

John had to look away, to gather himself. “Right… that’s not generally how dating works, but –”

“I’m not dating,” Sherlock said. “I’m looking for a potential mate, should I go into heat or something.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then I won’t need them. I don’t see what the problem is!”

“The problem, Sherlock, is you are a very attractive young man, regardless of your gender. You’re asking alphas to wait for a chance to mate with you, but a lot of them, Greg Lestrade isn’t alone in this, let me assure you, a lot of them just want to be with you because you’re _you_. Bonding isn’t necessarily on their minds.”

Sherlock stared. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Yes, it does. You can one to spend time with someone without mating with them. Good god, you’re all still teenagers.”

Sherlock looked confused. “But… why would anyone…”

“Romance?” John suggested.

Sherlock looked blank.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to be with someone, kiss them, go to the cinema… without being their mate?”

Sherlock blinked. “I don’t know. I… I’ve been waiting to find out what I am.”

“You heard Greg,” John softened his tone. “He likes you, and doesn’t care if you’re a beta or an omega. He likes _you_ , Unpresented. Sherlock.”

 _And he isn’t the only one_.

Sherlock licked his lips quickly, and John had to adjust his stance. “So… what do I do?”

“Maybe put mates out of your head for a bit, and think about being with someone you like?” John said.

Sherlock nodded. “Ok… I – ok…” he was still frowning as he went for the door. “How – how do you know you like someone?” he almost whispered, hand on the door handle.

John raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

A nod.

“You… think about them, a lot. You want to be kind to them, you want them to be kind to you. They make you happy, and you want to make them happy… It’s different for everyone, but I suppose those are the basics,” he almost forced himself to laugh to hide the fact he wanted to crawl down the plughole.

“I see.” Sherlock opened the door. “Thanks. John.” And he was gone again, just like that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another lecture, and a surprise waiting for John in his office.

“Alpha presentation,” John announced to the class. This time, it was the omega and beta students who looked gleeful, and the alphas who tried to hide behind their textbooks. John sympathised with them, but privately thought they needed to be knocked down a peg or two after so many lectures of omega anatomy.

“Can anyone explain alpha presentation for me?”

A beta girl put up her hand. “They go into their first rut, sir.”

“Yes,” John clicked the slideshow open, showing an alpha man, face distorted, full erect and flushed red at the chest. “And how do we define rut?”

“It’s a need to breed?”

“Essentially, though the definitions vary from person to person, the underlying drive is to mate and breed. To bond, too, if the alpha is unmated, which they will be at first rut.” John cleared his throat, remembering his own coming of age – at an army cadets camp, in a tent, in the middle of the peak district. There’d been no omega boys on the trip, thankfully for their sakes, so John had been in a furious rage for two days, having to be confined to the canteen block to ride out the agony of his knot swelling painfully, without compression inside an omega’s body. He had been very upset and apologetic once the urges had passed, but no one was angry with him – it was part of growing up, and proof John was where he belonged – at the top of the social hierarchy. His parents had been thrilled.

John clicked the slideshow on, showing a graph of hormone levels. “Alpha men and women can present at any age between around twelve and twenty – there’s no set time limit on presentation, it’s simply to do with hormone levels. Nor does it mean that an alpha that matures at twelve is somehow _better_ than one who matures at eighteen. It’s entirely random.”

“Twelve, though, sir?”

“Alpha hormones are the most prevalent in the human bloodstream,” John explained. “There is simply more of them, and so they have a statistical chance of condensing quicker. Everyone in this room has alpha hormones, just as we all have testosterone, but our bodies will vary. It’s simply luck of the genetic draw.” He waited for the students to make notes. Sherlock was writing something, but it didn’t look like lecture notes. He was wearing skinny jeans, and a fitted shirt open at the throat, looking utterly edible, but smelling utterly blank. If he’d given off a single note of omega, he’d’ve been buried under a pile of alphas. It was almost as though he was flaunting his unwanted-ness.

Well, why shouldn’t he?

 _Because if someone gets there first I’ll rip their throat out_ , John’s inner alpha snarled. John slammed the door on that thought, and went back to his lecture.

“So, alpha presentation…” he got his mind back on track. “Generally, alphas will feel a bit sick in the days up to their first rut. They might have a temperature, or off their food, which can make people think they’re going to present omega, as the symptoms of pre-heat are the same as pre-rut, but heats, of course, happen regularly. Ruts, once you’re presented, may never happen again. Presenting alphas will be extremely irritable, and may want to be alone, but as soon as rut begins, it is important to isolate them, particularly from omegas.”

“Why can’t you just let them mate?” an alpha student asked. Sherlock looked up from his notes.

“Because an alpha in rut is unable to take no for an answer,” John sighed. “The situation is incredibly delicate – if an alpha in rut forces a bond on an omega, that omega has been raped and force-bonded. But, as far back as records go, not a single omega has pressed charges when this has happened – bonding simply erases their perception of the rape.”

“Then why is it a problem?”

John stared. “Because whether or not an omega perceives it, forcing and rape has taken place. And I like to think we oppose that, in our society.”

“But if they don’t complain –”

“It’s not a case of them not wanting to,” John sighed. “They simply aren’t able to process it as wrong. They’ll fight tooth and nail – I’ve seen newly bonded omegas with terrible wounds, and torn bites – right until the bond happens, and then nature forces them to submit. It isn’t something I’ll condone. And nor should you.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“First rut passes in around forty-eight hours,” John went on, “and is generally painful, unless the alpha does mate. For males, their knot has get extremely sore, without compression, and for females, internal cramps are, I’m told, bone-wrackingly bad.” John saw a couple of alpha girls nodding. “Once the rut is over, alpha men will be able to fertilise beta and omega people with functional ovaries. Alpha women can conceive, it has been recorded, but it is difficult, and alpha women naturally seek out betas and omegas as preferable mates, or, indeed, other alpha women. Though, it has to be said, women are much more likely to present beta or omega, for reasons we’re not quite sure about.”

 

*

 

John yawned as he got to his office the day after next. There’d been a Halloween party at the student dorms the night before, and there was orange and black confetti all over the campus. He unlocked his door, then stopped, frozen in the doorway.

Sherlock was on the tiny, squashy sofa at the back of the office, curled up asleep, his coat over himself like a blanket.

John closed the door softly, put his bag down, and went to look at him.

The Unpresented boy was sleeping soundly, his eyes closed, lips parted a little, breathing steadily and deeply. The only scents coming from him were food, and warmth. And Sherlock. Sherlock had a Sherlock smell, that wasn’t ‘omega’ or ‘beta’, it was just the scent of his skin, his clothes, his bodywash… it was nice, but barely there at all.

John realised he’d been leaning down to sniff, and straightened up. He cleared his throat. “A-hem.”

Sherlock started, flinching awake, and looking at John, frowning for a moment before he remembered. “Uh…” he pulled his coat over his face.

“What on earth are you doing in my office?” John asked. “How the hell did you get in?”

“I saw you put in the code, once,” Sherlock’s muffled voice replied.

“And you thought you’d just break in? …Why?”

“Uh,” Sherlock pulled his coat down. “I went on a date, last night. It didn’t go well, and there was a party in my dorm I didn’t feel like navigating. I wanted to get some peaceful sleep, and I knew how to get in here. End of.”

John gawped. “You went on a date?”

“Oh, that’s the bit you’re interested in,” Sherlock said, rudely. “Yes, with an alpha woman.” He pulled a face.

“That good, was it?”

“She was brisk,” Sherlock sat up and rubbed his face. “She was happy enough to wait for me to present, but she was rather keen on me getting pregnant. Instantly.”

John frowned. “But…”

“Yes, I asked how,” Sherlock sighed. “She handed me a leaflet for this clinic where they use DNA of alpha women to fertilise omega eggs. It was… not exactly dinnertime reading.”

“Jesus,” John had heard of the procedure, but it was quite new, and he didn’t know if there had been any babies born. “Was that the end?”

“I excused myself, and climbed out of the toilet window,” Sherlock started pulling his shoes back on. “I’ve had better nights.”

John leaned on his desk. “Sherlock… you know you don’t have to do any of this?”

“The last thing anyone needs is Eurus with a Holmes fortune at his back.”

“But this… finding a mate? I…” John watched his do his laces. “I have to say, it makes me a bit sad.” _And jealous_.

“What does this have to do with you, again?”

“Well, a lot, apparently, since I’m stealing suppressants for you, and you’re sleeping on my sofa!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Where did you even meet this alpha woman?”

“On an app,” Sherlock stood and stretched. “AO Meetings. It’s…” he stopped, and let his arms drop. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“Let someone come to you?” John suggested. “I mean… look at you. You’re –” he stopped.

“I’m what?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“Nothing. I just meant you’re young and healthy, and I’m sure you have a lot of admirers.”

Sherlock’s lips went thin. “Sure.” He picked up his bag. “I’ll see you in class, I suppose.” He made no move for the door.

 _Say something, make some sort of indication you want him, before he vanishes yet again_.

John shifted. “Sherlock, I know you think you have to –”

“Please, don’t,” Sherlock held a hand up. “You… you helped me, back at the hospital. You’re the only one, really, who hasn’t kept on trying to suss me out. I don’t want you to change that.”

John took a breath. “What if I said I didn’t care about your gender?”

Sherlock looked away. “Lestrade said that, but he still scented the hell out of me.”

“I haven’t done that. I’m not touching you.”

“You want to,” Sherlock said, and his voice cracked. “I see it. But if I was a beta –”

“That wouldn’t change anything,” John said quickly.

Sherlock glanced back at him. “You’re my teacher.”

“I know.”

The student stroked over his hair, smoothing down where it stuck up at the back. “John… you don’t know what you want.”

John blinked, realising. He was being let down gently. Refused. Sherlock didn’t want him. “I – I see. Ok.”

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock bushed past him. “You don’t want to be stuck with me,” and he forced open the office door. “I’ll see you later. John.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

November arrived in a sheet of frost, coating the grass of campus, and sticking to the increasingly-naked trees of the grounds. John’s lectures moved on from reproduction to osteology, and the students continued to do well. Sherlock attended almost every session, aside from another blood-test at the start of the month, for which he handed John a note sulkily.

John almost spoke to him about it, but the Unpresented student was out of the door before he could. He authorised the absence instead, and kept an eye on the boy when he came back the next lecture, looking tired and absent-minded.

When the lecture ended, one of the alpha students waited for Sherlock.

It wasn’t Gregory Lestrade, though he too noticed the waiting alpha, giving the situation a double-take of obvious jealousy.

It was Victor Trevor, a pleasant alpha boy whose grades were middling, but had enough enthusiasm for his subject to see him through. He waited for Sherlock to come down the steps, and said something to him that made Sherlock roll his eyes, but they went off together, close enough to be a couple, though not touching.

John slammed his laptop lid down. Then regretted it, telling himself that giving in to alpha instinct was both immature, and pointless.

Sherlock was not an omega, though.

Was it really alpha instinct if he was jealous of someone being with _Sherlock_ , not _an omega_?

John paused, suddenly confused by his own thoughts. Sherlock didn’t smell like an omega. He didn’t smell like a beta. There was no logical explanation about why he should feel this way. Sherlock couldn’t mate, or bond, or have children. He wasn’t… that sort of person. Yet. Maybe ever. So… why did John feel like this?

He puzzled over the feelings all the way back to his office, then forgot about them as he started on his latest pile of marking. He was just worried about Sherlock’s wellbeing, that was all.

Nothing else.

 

*

 

Mid-November, Sherlock no longer sat alone in lectures. Victor was always next to him. It was very odd, at first, because John was used to the break in scents at that point, but now the space was distinctly alpha, and that was _not_ Sherlock. John wasn’t the only one to get a confused nose – the omega boy in the class stopped walking and had to look to confirm what his brain was telling him, only then to wander off, looking weirdly bemused.

Sherlock was almost overwhelmed in the alpha scent, and it wasn’t just because they were sitting together.

Clearly, they were getting physically close enough outside of class for Sherlock’s skin to be permeated with that scent.

And the thought of that made John feel distinctly strange. Alphas were not simply machines programmed to only want omegas. Plenty of alphas married betas, that wasn’t unusual. But Sherlock smelled of nothing. Just himself. Which had to mean Victor wanted him for just… him. Despite the fact Sherlock’s body was not ready for anything more than kisses and cuddles, he was staying with him.

A small bit of John’s brain said that Victor could be staking a claim on Sherlock – a sort of engagement that meant he would be there if and when he presented.

No, John shook his head. That wasn’t typical behaviour. Best to assume the students were in a relationship.

For everyone’s sakes.

 

*

 

Assumption, as it turned out, was the mother of all fuck-ups.

The knock came at 8:30pm, and John knew it was Sherlock before he even got out of his chair. Who else would call after hours like this?

“Sherlock, I hope you’ve got a good excu –” John’s words cut off as he saw him. “Fucking hell.”

“Yeah.” Sherlock’s eyes stayed on the floor. His left hand was clamped over the right-hand side of his neck, and blood was soaking through his skirt. “I…”

“Come in,” John closed the door behind him, and locked it. “When?”

“About forty minutes,” Sherlock’s legs gave way and he sank into the visitor’s chair.

“Taken anything?” John dragged his own chair around to sit close.

“No, I… just walked…” Sherlock moved his hand, and a fresh wash of blood moved from the released pressure.

“Keep your hand on it,” John pulled his medi-kit out. “Don’t lessen the pressure. Is it deep?”

“Don’t know.” Sherlock leaned to one side. “It’s torn.”

“Keep the pressure on,” John leaned over. “I’m going to take your shirt off.”

Sherlock nodded, letting John cut through his clothes – buttons be damned – leaving the sleeve of the bent arm hanging down. Dried blood covered his pale chest.

“Dry gauze,” John held it up. “Take your hand off, I’ll take over.”

Sherlock did as he was told, and John clamped the gauze down hard. “Ow.”

“Have you lost consciousness at all?”

“No.”

“Feel light-headed?”

“Yes.”

John lifted the gauze and looked at the wound before it could start puthering again. The bite was ragged – Sherlock had pulled away, tearing his skin. The teeth-marks were clearly visible, and it looked raw and painful. “I’m going to have to stitch this properly, Sherlock, it’s too deep for butterfly stitches.”

“Ok…”

John let Sherlock hold the gauze whilst he pulled on gloves, and readied needle and thread. “Do you want me to call the police, Sherlock? Be honest.”

Sherlock gave the middle-distance a good stare. “…no.”

“I’ll ask you again, later. This is assault.”

“He was trying…” Sherlock stopped, pressing his lips together. His eyes shone for a second. “He was trying to –”

“Without your permission.”

A nod.

“Jesus…” John took the gauze away, and started cleaning the weeping bite with antiseptic. Sherlock winced. “He should pay more attention in class. Forced bites rarely –”

“But stress and panic can,” Sherlock whispered. “He was trying to frighten, or hurt me enough-”

John let out a snarl, and Sherlock went quiet. “If I see him, I swear to god…”

“I hit him with a picture frame,” Sherlock said. “I might have broken his eye socket.”

“Nice.” John started sewing. “Sherlock, this is going to scar… I can’t do much about the teeth marks, I can only stitch the tear…” he paused. “I’m sorry.”

Sherlock didn’t answer. He was marked, now. An alpha had bitten him, though not claimed him, but people would see the bite, if he wasn’t wearing a collared shirt. They would assume. If he presented omega, alphas might look past him. If beta, people would assume he was a sad man, who wanted an alpha to bite him.

A bite was supposed to be sacred.

This was just a scar.

“It’s ok,” Sherlock said eventually. “If I end up being an omega, I’ll just get an alpha to bite it harder and make a real mess of my neck.”

“Oh, Sherlock…” John looked at him. “That’s… that’s not –”

“Maybe I can show off this bite to Mummy,” Sherlock laughed, sadly. “Maybe she’ll think I’ve been bonded with.”

John snipped his thread, and sprayed the area with antiseptic again. “I just need to dress this.”

Sherlock sat up a bit, the colour coming back into his cheeks. “He asked if I wanted to try it. I said no, and he held me down.”

John went still.

“I thought he liked me,” Sherlock said to the desk. “He took me to the science museum, and we went out for lunches. He listened to me play the violin. He sat with me in class…”

John lowered his hands, still full of bandages.

“I thought he was ok with waiting…” Sherlock’s eyes spilled over, and John dropped everything, catching the student in his arms as he covered his face and wept.

“Shh, it’s ok,” John pulled his spare jumper off the back of his chair and put it around Sherlock’s bare shoulders. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I _am_ wrong,” Sherlock pressed his face into John’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t be like this.”

“There is nothing wrong with you!” John leaned back to lift Sherlock’s chin and look him in the eye. “Listen to me, I know what I’m saying. There’s nothing wrong with you, Sherlock Holmes. You’re you, and you’re unique, and if you’re a couple of years outside average, well, that just makes you more special.”

Sherlock’s face crumpled. “Don’t say that.”

“What?”

“Don’t – don’t say I’m-I’m-I’m…” he dissolved again, hiding in John’s neck.

“You are, though,” John said softly. “You really are.”

“I don’t want you to think so.” Sherlock sat up, wiping his face. “Did you mean it? That – that thing you said, before?”

John’s heart lurched. “I always mean what I say, Sherlock.”

Sherlock glanced away. “I… When Mycroft came. He asked me if I’d thought about… you. As an option.”

“Oh?”

“But I don’t want you to be part of this,” Sherlock wiped his eyes again. “I need you to not be involved, so you can  - so you can keep doing this.”

“Stitching you up?”

“I mean, teaching, and letting me sleep on your sofa, and – and looking after me.” Sherlock went red. “And I don’t want you to have to deal with my family’s problems. You don’t… deserve that.”

“You don’t think I’d look after you if we were… together?” John spluttered. “That’s ridiculous.”

Sherlock blushed. “You’re my teacher. It’s probably illegal.”

“It’s definitely illegal. Doesn’t mean it’d have to be public. And if you presented omega, well… Bonding overrides everything.”

Sherlock went redder. “You can just sit and say that so casually.”

John smiled. “I’m thirty-four, Sherlock, I get lectured about bonding every time I see the GP, my sister, friends… sorry if it seems a bit lewd.”

“It should be special, though… You only get to do it once.”

“Which is one reason I never have.”

“But you would with me.”

“…yes.”

“To save me from inheritance hell?”

“No,” John admitted, “that’s a footnote, really.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide. “But I’m not an omega. How can you… want me?”

“I don’t know,” John said. “I think it’s because I want Sherlock Holmes. Not Omega Holmes. I think I’d still want you even if you were an alpha.”

Sherlock covered his mouth. “That’s…”

“Let me dress that wound,” John picked up fresh bandages. “And I’ll get you back to your dorm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solidarity with everyone on a Women's March, today. Sympathy with everyone in the USA, for yesterday.


	8. Chapter 8

John leant Sherlock the spare jumper. It took the two of them to get it on, as Sherlock was having trouble raising his right arm, and once it was on it drowned the student. It bagged at the neck, showing off the bandage and the red skin.

“Here,” John rooted around in his holdall. “Try this.” He held out a deep blue scarf with a faded tartan design almost washed away.

“Thank you,” Sherlock knotted it around his neck. It hid the dressing, at least.

Neither of them even considered that John wouldn’t walk Sherlock back to his dorm. The alpha’s urge to protect – to protect someone who was clearly vulnerable – was up, and he would rather have stuck himself in the eye than left Sherlock’s side for a moment.

Of course, that was only half the truth of the matter.

No one took the slightest notice of the lecturer and student walking together, and Sherlock led the way to his dorm block without speaking. He was holding himself stiffly, clearly on edge, and probably in pain. John was glad he’d brought a blister pack of painkillers with him.

They reached the doors, and John skidded to a halt, taking several steps backward, for good measure.

“Sherlock… I can’t go in there,” he pointed at the sign. _Beta Dormitory Block B_. Of course, the safest place to put Sherlock was with Beta students.

Sherlock glanced over. “It’s alright, I can let you in.”

“It’s still student bedrooms,” John said gently. “Look, I’ve got these for you, you can take two now, and two –”

“Please come up,” Sherlock blurted.

John lowered the packet. “Sherlock, I could lose my job.”

“I’m…” Sherlock took a shuddering breath. “I think he might be up there.”

“How? He’s an alpha.”

“He’s very charming,” Sherlock sighed. “He’s done it before. Got a beta to let him in, said he wanted to surprise me.” He suddenly looked exhausted, and miserable. “I thought it was romantic. Now it just seems… odd.”

John scrubbed at his hair. “Is there CCTV?”

“In the lobby. It captures every four seconds,” Sherlock looked up. “I could hold the door open, and, if you’re fast…”

“Oh, hell,” John sighed. “Ok. Tell me when.” He geared up for a run.

Sherlock swiped his card, and opened the door, glancing up at the CCTV. “Come closer, John. Stop, right there. Ok… One, two, three, click. One, two, three, click. One-”

John launched himself through the lobby and halfway up the first flight of stairs.

Sherlock let the door go, and followed him, smiling slightly. “You’re quick, Doctor Watson.”

“Yeah, for an old guy.”

“I wasn’t going to say that!”

“But you were thinking it,” John nudged Sherlock, who covered his mouth to hold in a grin.

“Shh, we need to get to my room. Second floor, Room 21.”

Whatever deity was in charge that night looked favourably on them, because not only did they encounter no students en route, they also met no Victor.

Sherlock unlocked his door, and the two of them went in quickly, Sherlock locking it behind him.

“You don’t share?” John looked at the unmade-up bed on one side of the room.

“Unpresented Privilege,” Sherlock half-smiled. “They’ve put me away from alphas and omegas, but they still don’t want me to risk hurting a roommate… or making them uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfo… oh, I see,” John cleared his throat, trying not to imagine Sherlock having a spontaneous heat, wracked on this ¾ bed, his legs tangled in the increasingly damp sheets as he sought purchase and penetration.

Sherlock unwound the scarf from his neck. “Thank you… I was just paranoid, I think.”

“No, you’re rightly cautious,” John said, pushing his overactive imagination away. “He could well have been here… And to be honest, I’m not sure what I’d have done if he had been.”

Sherlock looked at him. “What… what do you mean?”

“Sherlock, he nearly ripped your throat out.”

“I know, but…” Sherlock went red, “but I’m not your _mate_ , or anything. Why should you want… revenge?”

“It’s not revenge as much as just desserts,” John flashed a grin. “And you don’t have to be my mate for me to want to look after you. I did, didn’t I? And I’ll keep doing it. Sherlock, if you said you wanted me to right now get out, and never speak to you again, I would still want the best for you. It’s what I’ll always want for you. No matter what we are to one another.”

Sherlock blinked, as if the statement took a lot of processing.

Then he walked over, and put a hand on John’s chest, right on his sternum, open-handed and fingers splayed. “You said you’d want me. Even if I was an alpha.”

“I meant it. I mean it.”

Sherlock gave a sad smile, hope shining from his eyes. “And – and what if I stayed broken? Forever?”

“You’re not broken, Sherlock.”

“But what if?”

“I don’t care,” John said honestly. “I do not care. Sometimes I wish… I wish none of us were alphas, betas, omegas… we were just people.”

“How would anyone ever… do anything?” Sherlock looked baffled.

“Maybe they’d just fall in love, like betas do now,” John reached, and took Sherlock’s hand from his chest, gently lacing their fingers together. Sherlock watched, almost smiling. “Maybe they’d just figure it out. I like figuring you out, Sherlock.”

“I like watching you try,” Sherlock teased, squeezing the broader hand in his own. “I like this…”

John could barely breathe, barely think as Sherlock brought John’s hand to his mouth, and gently kissed the back of it. For an alpha, so used to taking the sexual lead, even this tiny display of affection – taken first – was doing a number on him.

“Sherlock…”

Sherlock’s lips grazed John’s hand as he spoke. “Will you stay with me?” Warm breath on the alpha’s skin.

“I…”

“Tonight, I mean. Please?” Sherlock’s eyes found his own, and John was struggling to remember why this was a bad idea, why he should go, why… anything.

“Sherlock… you’re…”

“Please?” Sherlock kissed the alpha’s hand again, and John knew he was done for.

He let out a soft groan, and pulled Sherlock into a proper embrace, wrapping his arms around the young man and inhaling the scent of his hair.

“You can’t scent me,” Sherlock said into John’s jumper.

“Can so,” John said, his voice soft and low. “You smell like books, and lime-scented bodywash, and my jumper, and chemicals from the lab, and your skin has a scent… Just enough to make you _you_. Trust me, it’s there.” John inhaled down Sherlock’s head to prove it, kissing the shell of his ear as he passed it, scenting and kissing his hairline, down to his neck, sticking to the left-hand side of his throat as he moved.

Sherlock let his head drop back as far as his wound would let him, humming contentedly at the contact, his hands holding John’s arms tight, as if he was afraid he might fall. “John…”

“Sherlock,” John clicked his tongue on the final sound. “You change everything.”

Sherlock’s breath caught, and he turned his head, searching for John, who responded in kind, the two of them nosing at one another for a moment, and then finally kissing.

It was a close-mouthed kiss, and the innocence of it took John by surprise, but Sherlock didn’t make a move to open his mouth at all. Instead, there were lots of small kisses, and they were so different that they seemed new, and sweet, and John barely knew how to handle them.

He gently held Sherlock’s head at the base of his skull, his other hand at the small of the boy’s back, feeling the tension beginning to dissolve in his body.

John took a step back, leading Sherlock to the bed that was made up.

And Sherlock froze.

John realised his mistake right away, loosening his grip immediately. “You ok?”

Sherlock nodded. Then shook his head. “No…”

“It’s ok,” John stroked his hair, looking him in the eye. “You’ve had a rough night, it wasn’t right of me to push you –”

“You’re not pushing,” Sherlock said softly, touching John’s chest again, gripping the material in his fingers. “It’s just… tonight. He… on his bed… that’s where he held me down.”

John tried not to show how angry he was with Victor, instead turning his rage into affection, and kissing Sherlock firmly on the head. “Sherlock, look at me? I get it. It’s fine. You can say _no_ , or _stop_ , to anything, and I’ll listen.”

Sherlock’s eyes looked up from the carpet. “Unless I present omega, and go into heat.”

John sighed. “Sherlock, I’m a doctor. I’ve been around omegas in heat, and haven’t leapt on any of them.”

“None?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“I’ve had sex with omegas,” John said honestly, “in and out of their heats. But it’s always been consensual. Ok? I’m not the kind of alpha who barges in and stakes a claim. I’ve never bitten anyone. Never gotten anyone pregnant. I’m…” John sighed, and smiled. “I’m not trying to convince you to do anything. I’m just letting you know that, if you decide you want me for more than a kiss, I won’t make you do _anything_ you don’t want to.”

Sherlock nodded, tears escaping down his face. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” John pulled him close.

“For not waiting for you,” Sherlock sobbed into his jumper.

John shook his head, and stroked Sherlock’s hair, before helping the Unpresented boy into bed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing fics feels so futile at the moment, with all the shit going on. Sorry if there are delays between updates, I'm struggling to keep going, recently.

John managed to hold in his desire to give Victor Trevor a good beating. At least, until the next time he had the alpha student in a lecture. Which, as it happened, was the next day.

Sherlock was still wearing the blue scarf John had leant him – it covered the ragged bite-mark, and actually suited him nicely. No one looked twice at it. Except John, who couldn’t tear his eyes from it. He knew the scars and torn flesh that lay beneath. And remembering made him want to break things. That, and simultaneously cradle Sherlock close. John had not stayed the night in Sherlock’s room. He’d waited until the Unpresented student had drifted asleep, John sitting beside him on the bed, stroking his hair, and then he’d slipped out. He left a note with his mobile number on the desk:

 

Sherlock –

 

Keep that dressing on, and try not to get it wet in the shower. If it’s painful, take one (ONE) of the tablets in this pack every four hours. Come and see me at some point tomorrow, and I’ll change that dressing.

 Stay safe.

 

John x

 

“And that’s it for today,” John said. “No homework for today, just keep revision in mind for your after-Christmas exams, ok? Er… Victor? Stay behind, please.”

Victor looked surprised, but shrugged as he gathered his things up.

John was careful not to look at Sherlock, but the unpresented boy passed his desk, dragging his fingers over the surface in a sort of greeting, so that was enough.

“What’s this about, Dr Watson?” Victor came down the steps.

John waited for the door to bang shut. “I’ve been asked to give you this,” he lied, and handed Victor a printed copy of the university policy for dealing with assault.

Victor opened it, and his face went red. “Why?”

“There’s been a complaint made.”

Victor re-folded the pages. “I don’t see what this has to do with me,” he glared at John, alpha arrogance rolling off him.

John straightened his shoulders, the barest threat. “So, you’d like me to take this to student services?”

The student’s face flinched, just a touch. “Is this about Holmes?”

“Is this a confession?”

Victor sighed, as if the entire conversation was boring. “Look, it was just something that got out of hand. He wasn’t really hurt, and anyway, it was his idea.”

“Really.”

“Well, he didn’t exactly put up much of a fight,” Victor grinned, looking at John for alpha comradery. And finding none.

John pressed his lips together for a moment, considering.

Then he grabbed Victor by the jacket front and slammed him into the wall.

“Ow - what the fuck – ”

John leaned in close, and snarled, close to Victor’s throat.

The scent-waves of arrogance quickly soured to fear.

“Wasn’t really hurt?” John growled. “Then maybe you won’t mind a matching mark.”

“You can’t –”

“Shut up. You nearly killed one of my students. He was bleeding out. He’s marked with your stupidity. All because you tried to force a bond. Force. That,” John leaned closer, “is illegal.”

Victor didn’t reply, he was too busy trying to lean away from John’s bared teeth.

“I’ll give you today to turn yourself in to the police,” John went on. “And if you don’t, you will have to deal with more than just their consequences.”

“What – is he your omega, or something?” Victor choked out.

“Sherlock isn’t an omega.”

“He is,” Victor spat. “He will be, or he should be. He’s broken, and there’s something wrong with him, but it’s nothing an alpha can’t cure.”

“And if he’s a beta?”

Victor shrugged, struggling against John’s grip. “Worth a try. Any _real_ alpha would agree with me.”

John shoved Victor harder against the wall, and snarled against his sour skin. “I’d tear your throat out, but you need it to confess,” he let the student go. “Get the fuck out, and take yourself to the police.”

“Fuck you,” Victor put a hand to his unbroken throat skin. He grabbed his bag, and sprinted out of the room.

John sat on the edge of his desk, and put his head in his hands.

“A noble gesture, Dr Watson.”

John looked up. “Mycroft?”

Mycroft smiled, and walked from around the back of the projector screen. “Indeed. You think you’re the only one who wants justice for Sherlock?”

“I shouldn’t have threatened him,” John sighed. “I nearly bit him.”

“And I, at least, would have understood if you did. However, you did make an effort to make him to the, er, right thing.”

“He won’t go,” John stood. “To the police. I’ll end up hurting him, and lose my job… And how did you know what happened to Sherlock?”

“He does occasionally text,” Mycroft said. “He asked what sort of evidence our parents would need of a bond, and offered a photograph of his bite.”

John’s fists clenched.

“Sadly, they would not be satisfied with a picture alone. With some coaxing, I was able to draw the rest of the story from him. And I, too, am seeking revenge.”

“How?” John shook his head. “He’s run off.”

“And straight into the arms of my waiting officials,” Mycroft adjusted his umbrella on the ground. “I believe certain images were found on his student server, only this morning. Images that will ensure his incarceration.”

John blinked. “…you did that?”

“I did.”

“What… do you do, exactly?”

“I work for the British Government.”

“You’re a spy?”

“Nothing so crass,” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Mostly administration.”

“And planting evidence?” John almost laughed. “Convenient.”

“It’s one of the perks.” Mycroft walked over. “I owe you thanks, though, Dr Watson. For patching Sherlock up. He would never have gone to hospital.”

“I know.”

Mycroft glanced at the empty lecture hall. “You… enjoy his company.”

“I like him,” John said. “He knows that.”

“Despite his unpresented status.”

“Because of. No – not…” John tried to organise his thoughts. “It’s who he is, and I like who he is. So it’s not my business to change him. He’s not broken, or sick. He’s Sherlock.”

Mycroft smiled, and John suspected it was the first real one he had seen so far. “At risk to your career… you would continue to… be with him?”

“Yes.”

A nod, this time. “I have to admit, when I asked you procure suppressants for Sherlock… I discussed the option of you as a mate for Sherlock, with him. He seemed to be under the impression that you valued your career too much. That, and since you had never bonded, you would be unwilling to wait for him.”

“I’d wait for him for as long as I had to,” John said, blushing. “I… this isn’t exactly the sort of thing I’d pictured discussing with you.”

“Apologies,” Mycroft said, “But you understand my protectiveness over my little brothers.”

“Of course.” John picked up his bag. “But I do have marking to get done, you know.”

“Then, don’t let me keep you,” Mycroft nodded at the door. “Thank you, Dr Watson.”

John had the feeling he was being thanked for more than just the impromptu meeting.

 

*

 

Sherlock was waiting in his office, sitting on the desk, swinging his legs. “Mycroft got you,” he said, as John closed the door.

“He did. Interesting fellow, your brother.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Sherlock smiled. “He’s interfering?”

“Not as such. But I don’t think you’ll be hearing from Victor again, anytime soon.” John put his things down, and walked over, touching Sherlock’s head gently. “You ok?”

“I will be,” Sherlock nodded. He leaned his face into John’s touch. He stayed leaning for a moment, then swallowed shyly, and looked into the alpha’s eyes. “Can we keep this… slow? I’m… I’m not…”

“Slow is perfect,” John smiled, kissing Sherlock on the forehead. “Now, let me change that dressing?”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't begin to say how much all your comments and messages have meant. I'm soldiering on, for now. We have to keep creating, now, more than ever. Thank you, everyone, for your love and support. xxx

Sherlock came to John’s office every day. Sometimes, it was just to study. Other times, it was to read, or to play on his phone, or to just watch John doing his lessons plans.

After a week, John took the final dressing off Sherlock’s bite.

He resisted the urge to bit his own lip at the sight of it.

“Is it bad?” Sherlock must have noticed his expression.

“D’you want a mirror?” John looked around fruitlessly.

“I can look in my room. But… is it? Bad?”

“It’s… It’s better than I hoped for,” John touched the sore-looking skin. “Can you feel that?”

“Are you touching me?” Sherlock’s breath caught.

“Yes… I think there’s a bit of nerve damage. How about now?” John’s finger ran down, just a touch.

Sherlock flinched. “Yes.”

“Ok,” John took his hand away reluctantly. “Looks like the bite site itself is numb, but only in a small place. I think, relatively speaking, you’ve been quite lucky.”

“Hm.”

John tossed the old dressings into the bin, and glanced at Sherlock’s neck.

The bite-marks were cleanly scarred – a tear running along one side, and lines of reddish-pink scar tissue connecting the imprints. To John’s eyes, Sherlock looked like a bonded omega. To John’s nose, Sherlock smelled like a patient who had been assaulted. It was very confusing.

Sherlock started doing up his buttons. “Thank you… for looking after me.”

“No thanks required,” John smiled.

Sherlock adjusted his collar. “I mean it, though. I am grateful.” He stood, and seemed to take a deep breath before walking to John’s chair, and to John’s surprise and delight, sitting on John’s lap, straddling him, legs either side.

“Sherlock…”

“Shh,” Sherlock laid his head on John’s shoulder. “Just want to be quiet, for a minute.”

John stayed still, trying to slow his breathing, trying not to inhale the singular scent of Sherlock – that pheromone-free smell of books and cigarettes and soap. John tried not to feel Sherlock’s pleasant weight on his legs, the tickle of his soft curls on his face and neck, and the way Sherlock’s breath was warming his throat.

“Hold me,” Sherlock whispered.

John did so, moving his arms slowly, puling Sherlock into a proper embrace, keeping him from falling, holding them chest to chest. There was no point in trying to hide the race of his heart, because Sherlock’s was doing the same, running away with itself in nerves and daring. John swallowed, aware of the increasing pressure at his groin, but ignoring it, for now, and reaching up to Sherlock’s hair, to feel the strands as they curled around his fingers.

Sherlock shifted, slightly, his pelvis moving against John’s growing erection.

John forced himself to keep still. This… this was new. He was aroused, and because he wanted the _person_ on his lap. Not an omega in heat, or a beta turning on the charm. Just… Sherlock. John wanted… to make love to him. But that didn’t have to mean sex. That meant what they were doing now – holding one another, inhaling the closeness of themselves, gently rocking their bodies together with no destination in sight.

Sherlock moved his hips in a deliberate, light, grinding motion.

John let out a noise somewhere between a cough and a moan, cutting it off quickly as he glanced at the locked office door, the blind pulled down.

“Do you want to stop?” Sherlock said softly.

“Never.”

Sherlock smiled, and moved his hips again, this time exhaling with a shuddering breath. John moved his hands down, one coming to rest on Sherlock’s hip, the other moving slowly under the hem of his shirt, seeking his skin.

“Oh…” Sherlock raised his head. “Can we…” he looked at the squashed-up sofa.

“Yes,” John stood, taking Sherlock with him, who gasped in surprise, clearly forgetting an alpha’s strength. John carried him, Sherlock’s long legs around his waist, to the sofa, and gently laid him onto his back before climbing over him, and scenting his throat.

“There’s nothing – Oh!” Sherlock’s eyes went wide as John kissed at his neck, nosing the hinge of his jaw. “Oh…”

“You smell incredible,” John said, truthfully. “It’s unadulterated with pheromones. It’s pure, it’s good… It’s you, and that’s all I want.” He licked a thin stripe up Sherlock’s neck, and the student practically melted into the cushions, his body going pliant, legs parting, letting John closer, as close as possible whilst they were still clothed.

“I…” Sherlock put his hands on John’s back, gripping hard at his jumper. “God-!”

John didn’t try to bite at Sherlock’s neck, though the urge to mark him was driving him up the wall. Instead he kissed and sucked and inhaled, finally surging forward and grinding his erection over Sherlock’s smaller one.

Sherlock’s eyes went wide, and he inhaled sharply.

“Is this ok?” John breathed.

Sherlock hesitated.

“You can say, Sherlock. If you were ok, you wouldn’t have paused,” John smiled gently down at him.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock went red.

John propped himself up on his elbows. “It’s ok.”

“It’s just… you on top…”

“Did you want to swap?”

Sherlock considered. “Ok.”

There was a moment of giggling nonsense as they stood, and John lay down, and Sherlock climbed on top of him, and by the time they had settled, the urge to start rutting against one another had all-but passed.

Sherlock snuggled into John’s chest, instead, and let John hold him. “This is nice.”

“It is,” John agreed, not even slightly sorry they’d stopped. Was this what it was like for betas? No insatiable lust to deal with? If Sherlock had been an omega, would John feel this calm? He’d like to think he had that much self-control, but if there had been a beautiful omega under him, he didn’t like to think about it.

“I was thinking,” Sherlock said. “…what if you met my family?”

John frowned. “Really?”

“So they know I’m serious about… this.”

“Oh,” John mocked, gently. “You’re serious about this, then?”

“Mm,” Sherlock raised his head to meet John’s eyes. “I think I am.”

“You _think_ you are.”

“I know I am,” Sherlock grinned. “I…” he reached out and stroked down John’s face with a finger. “I wish I’d present omega, for you.”

John couldn’t help the huge grin that he gave. “That’s… Sherlock, you know I don’t mind. Omega, beta, unpresented… you’re you.”

“I know, and I believe you,” Sherlock smiled. “But still… I hope that’s what happens. One day, soon.”

John pulled him closer for a bone-creaking hug, trying to express without speaking, just how much he wanted that, too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! xx

“A party?” John looked up from the folded invitation. “Bit early for Christmas, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but knowing my parents, it will be the first of many,” Sherlock carried on typing on his laptop. “Be thankful it is the first, and the good champagne will still be flowing.”

John put the invite down. “I thought we could meet them… in a tea room, or something?”

Sherlock looked up. “You don’t want to go.”

“I’m not exactly a frequenter of parties,” John pulled a face. “But… I can muck in.”

Sherlock smiled, just a bit. “They are excited to meet you, I promise.”

“From what I’ve heard of your parents, I’ll be in for an in-depth chat,” John pinned the invite to his calendar. “What have you told them?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “That you’re an alpha, a former soldier and trained doctor, lecturing at university.” He typed a few letters before adding: “They don’t know you’re _my_ tutor.”

“Probably for the best,” John said, resisting the urge to chew his lip. A party at what was described on the invite as _Sherrinford Manor_. Manor. John had only set foot in a manor whilst visiting National Trust properties. He knew Sherlock came from old money, but still… “I’m going to need to go shopping,” he said.

“Just wear a suit. It’s not white tie.”

“I can’t _just_ wear a suit,” John insisted. “I’m putting down my case to effectively court you.”

“Unless I present beta.”

“Sherlock, you know I have no plans to walk away from you, presentation or not.”

Sherlock smiled, and John knew it had been a tiny test. The student was probably as nervous as him. Who wouldn’t be, introducing someone you wished you could bond with to your parents? Particularly parents who were desperate to arrange a bonding for you. And if they disliked John…

“What would you do?” John asked suddenly. “If they said… they didn’t want me. To join your family?”

Sherlock didn’t answer, and for a moment John thought he was being ignored. Until Sherlock closed his laptop lid, and steepled his fingers under his chin, thoughtfully.

“I have considered it,” he said slowly. “Their goal, since Eurus, has been to get a… better alpha. Into the family. That wasn’t going to be Mycroft, so duty fell to me. Your scan has shown that I have either a beta or omega body… So I have to mate. And whomsoever I bond with… I used to think it would have to be anyone with alpha pheromones. Then, after Victor…”

John bared his teeth without thinking about it, glancing at where he knew the ugly bite was on the unpresented boy’s neck.

Sherlock passed a hand over that spot. “Yes… I realised that not just anyone would do. By my standards of theirs. I wanted… you. You cared. Care. You haven’t tried… anything. And you’re the sort of man I’d choose for myself, if I had any control over my future.”

“But,” John said, sensing it coming.

“But,” Sherlock sighed, “what I want from a mate, or a husband, might not be what they want.”

John got up from his desk chair, and came and sat beside Sherlock on the sofa, taking one of his hands in both of his. “What do you think they want?”

“I think…” Sherlock looked at their joined hands, “they would want someone like them. Someone… well off. Well to do.”

“Not a scruffy tutor in a jumper and a tiny office?”

Sherlock’s face fell.

John sighed, and pulled the student close, putting his arm around him, and kissing him firmly on the ear. “Hey. We don’t know what they want. Mycroft seems to think they just want you mated, and to someone who’s got all their faculties.”

“But…” Sherlock looked up, his eyes rather glassy, “if they tell me they don’t… I don’t know how to…”

“We don’t have to part just because they say so.”

Sherlock huffed out a laugh. “You think so?”

“I know so.” John kissed Sherlock again, on the cheek, lingering, nosing at his jaw, inhaling the non-scent of him. “It’ll take more than your mother to get me away from you.”

Sherlock let out a dry sob. “What do you even get from me? I’m just… some toy that doesn’t work properly. I’m a beta who doesn’t smell right, or an omega who won’t have a heat. I’m… I’m such hard work. I don’t know. What do you get from me?”

John smiled, and kissed around to Sherlock’s mouth. “Happiness.”

“Uh,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, before kissing back.

 

*

 

John shifted from foot to foot as they waited outside the door. Sherlock was holding his hand, and it was as though they were both clinging to one another, like each was the other’s anchor in what each viewed as the oncoming storm. John’s new suit felt strange – it was almost too new, and Sherlock was wearing clothes that clung to his slender frame and with a shirt slashed to the navel. It had a high collar, to hide the damage to his neck. He shivered in the winter air.

The door was opened by a valet, and the sound of music and chatter hit them immediately, as well as warmth. They went in, following the valet to what Sherlock whispered was the ‘ballroom’, and were left to try and mingle when they were barely through the door.

“You are by far the most beautiful person here,” John murmured to Sherlock, who went pink. It wasn’t a lie. Even the heady scents of various unbonded omega guests couldn’t turn John’s head. Sherlock was wearing a pale blue suit, and white shirt that showed off his chest and toned stomach. It was traditional omega wear, and even though Sherlock didn’t smell like one, he certainly looked like one, at least at that moment. His pale skin and black curls were immaculate, his eyes shining with invitation, though the lack of scent coming off his skin meant that his appearance was also mildly confusing.

“I can see Mummy,” Sherlock glanced over deliberately. “And Mycroft. Surprisingly.”

“Good,” John said, seizing two champagne glasses from a server. “If we didn’t get out of this, neither should he.”

“It means he’s going to be insufferable.”

“No change there, then,” John handed Sherlock his drink. “Do we go over to them?”

“Not yet,” Sherlock sipped his drink. “I want to enjoy being dressed up with you for a moment, first,” he turned, and put a hand to John’s hip so they were intimately close. “You look very handsome.”

“I look like I’m wearing someone else’s clothes.”

“Maybe to you, what you’re used to,” Sherlock smiled. “But to me, and anyone else here, you look like a gorgeously dressed alpha, who’s unbonded, and probably smells divine.”

John flashed a grin. “You can smell me, can’t you?”

“A bit,” Sherlock nodded. “According to the doctors, about as well as a teenager.”

“That’s nice to know,” John smiled, leaning in for a quick scenting of Sherlock’s jaw hinge. “Though, you do realise, I only have eyes for you.” He kissed him.

Sherlock chased his lips, pulling him closer by the hip in a very confusing display of dominance, but John didn’t object. “I can’t believe they’ve made us have separate rooms.”

“Well,” John broke the kiss to speak, his voice a low rumble, “you can always sneak in.”

“I plan to,” Sherlock murmured, before opening his mouth and letting John’s tongue sweep inside.

A deliberate cough made them break apart. “Try and keep your clothes on, at least,” Mycroft sniffed, looking somewhere between embarrassed and appalled. “Mummy sent me for you. She wants to see you both.”


	12. Chapter 12

John’s heart was in his mouth as they followed Mycroft. The cheeky look had drained off Sherlock’s face, and he was pale.

John reached, and took his hand.

Sherlock looked down, and squeezed back, gratefully.

They threaded their way through the people, towards a massively ornate fireplace that measured as tall as John. There were fewer guests around, now, and John could see an older couple speaking softly together, each holding a tumbler of something deep amber.

“Mummy,” Mycroft said politely. “Allow me to introduce you?”

The woman in the couple turned, and John caught a mellow scent of omega, past her prime, but the scent was still there. She was the image of Sherlock, with her cheekbones and pale skin, and hair which might once have been dark but was now grey.

She didn’t smile, and neither did her alpha mate, who put a hand on her waist, and looked John over as if he was some sort of threat.

“You must be John,” the woman said.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” John said, making no move to shake her hand – her mate’s body language was all-too easy to read. “You have a wonderful home.”

“One which my sons are accustomed to,” she nodded. She looked at Sherlock. “You look beautiful, darling. Omega-wear suits you.”

“Perhaps it’ll spark something in me,” Sherlock quipped, but there was a tiny tremor in his voice. “There’s time yet.”

“Yes, a month or so,” Sherlock’s mother said. She looked back at John. “I understand Mycroft and Sherlock have made you aware of Sherlock’s deadline.”

“Yes, John knows,” Sherlock answered for him. “But, Mummy… I want to –”

“Sherlock, I’m not going to start arguing with you during a party,” she sniffed. “I wished to meet the alpha you’ve chosen, and I have.” She pursed her lips as she looked back at John. “I understand you’re a teacher?”

“I lecture in medicine,” John said. “I’m a qualified doctor. And I used to be in the army.”

“A soldier?” Sherlock’s father looked interested for the first time. “Why did you retire?”

“I was injured, in action,” John said, feeling Sherlock’s eyes on him. “I was shot whilst attending to a wounded comrade.”

Sherlock’s parents nodded, visibly impressed.

“And you don’t suffer with any ill-effects?” Sherlock’s father asked.

“No, I had excellent doctors, myself. I returned to practicing medicine for a while, and now I’m teaching others to do the same.”

Sherlock’s mother almost smiled. “I see. That’s very interesting. And you met Sherlock on campus?”

“A little unorthordox, yes, but –”

She waved a hand. “I’m not about to start questioning you about the ins and outs. Rather, I’m pleased to hear Sherlock is actually attending classes this year.”

“Well, I didn’t meet Sherlock in class,” John circumnavigated the truth, “but yes, I believe he is. I’m very proud of him.”

Sherlock went pink, and beamed at John as though he was a bride.

“I’m Violet Holmes,” the omega woman said, finally extending a hand. John shook it briefly, and then the hand of her mate, Siger. The mood lifted considerably, and all five of them accepted new glasses of champagne from a circulating waiter, and took seats beside the crackling fireplace.

“I don’t want my birthday to be my deadline,” Sherlock said, when they were settled. “I want to wait a little longer. For John.”

“You could still present beta,” Siger pointed out. “And if you did –”

“If I did, your money would go to Eurus, and that’d be the end of it,” Sherlock sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I could present right now, or in five years, or never.”

“Never would be preferable,” Violet sighed. “We have yet to find an omega who has the fortitude to control Eurus, and it’s doubtful we ever will, and even so… once we were dead, a vast fortune would be in the hands of a young man not in his right mind.”

“But it’s irrelevant,” Sherlock said, confidence from with the drink or John’s hand in his making him continue to speak. “I’ve chosen an alpha for if I present omega. If I don’t, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“And John?” Violet raised her eyebrows. “How long are you willing to wait? For Sherlock?”

John drained his drink, and lifted his and Sherlock’s clasped hands, kissing the student’s fingers, making him turn fire-engine red at the public display of affection. “How long? I’m not waiting, Mrs Holmes. I want to be with Sherlock no matter his gender. I’m not going anywhere.”

Mycroft blushed, too, and the Holmes’s looked at one another in apparent amazement.

Sherlock’s eyes shone.

And John thought he might be in love.

 

*

 

John’s guest room was like the poshest hotel room he had ever been in, except there wasn’t a minibar. The huge bed was made up with soft cottons, and there was a soft towelling robe on the back of the door to the sumptuous bathroom.

But John hardly noticed any of it. He stripped off as soon as he got into the room, jumping into the shower as nerves tingled over his skin.

“ _Well,” John broke the kiss to speak, his voice a low rumble, “you can always sneak in.”_

_“I plan to.”_

Sherlock planned to sneak in. John paused as he soaped up, imagining what that might entail.

His cock stirred at the thought, blood draining to harden it, making John stifle a groan as he ran a hand over his growing erection. It was tempting to lean against the side of the shower and stroke himself to orgasm, imagining what he might do to Sherlock, with Sherlock, with the young man who was neither beta or omega, sprawled beneath him, lubricant smeared over his arse, holding himself open for John to –

John stuck his head under the water to wake himself up. “Keep it together, John,” he murmured, turning the water off and stepping out of the shower, letting the water dry on his body in the warm air. He wasn’t going to give in. If Sherlock was going to come into his room, he wanted to be able to give him anything, and everything he wanted.

He wandered back into the bedroom, and wrapped the robe around himself, wondering if he should wait up, or go to bed.

It could be a long night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger. Again.


	13. Chapter 13

Thankfully, John wasn’t kept waiting too long.

There was the tiniest tap at the door, and then it opened, Sherlock slipping in and locking it behind him as he grinned at the subterfuge of the situation.

“Hey,” John clicked the television off, climbed off the bed, and came forward. “You did come.”

“Of course,” Sherlock let John embrace him, melting into his arms. “We shouldn’t be apart if we’re sleeping under the same roof for the first time.”

“Very true,” John picked Sherlock up, and carried him over to the bed. He inhaled the scent of his skin. “You smell citrusy.”

“Lemon and lime shower gel,” Sherlock grinned, and then shuddered as John nosed at the crook of his neck.

John kissed as the pale skin, nosing as much scent from Sherlock as he could before laying him down on the bed, and looking down at him.

Sherlock was biting his lip, looking somewhere between afraid and eager, his chest rising and falling fast under his cotton t-shirt, his pyjama bottoms betraying the fact he was at least semi-hard.

John stroked a hand down Sherlock’s leg. “Sherlock… What do you –”

Sherlock blushed. “I want you.”

“As in…?” John glanced deliberately at Sherlock’s cock as it strained harder against his trousers.

“Mm-hm,” Sherlock clamped his lips together.

John smiled. “Oh, thank god.” He untied his robe at the waist, and let it fall to the ground, exposing himself completely, and watching Sherlock’s eyes go as round as saucers as he saw what sort of fate he’d let himself in for.

“Ok…” Sherlock said, leaning up, his eyes still on John’s cock.

John had to grin. “We don’t have to –” his words turned into a moan as Sherlock reached out and dragged his fingers gently over John’s erection, watching and feeling as the skin moved over the hardness, his eyes lit up with curiosity. John steadied himself on the edge of the mattress as Sherlock’s fingertip-touches twisted around into a grip, and a firm slow pull that made John clamp a hand over his own mouth.

“I think we have to,” Sherlock whispered, looking up at John, his hand still on the alpha’s cock.

“Fuck, yes,” John panted sighing in loss as Sherlock let him go, and pulled off his own soft pyjama t-shirt.

John put a hand on the student’s chest and pushed him gently back down, climbing over him as he did so. Sherlock fell back against the bedclothes, licking his lower lip for an instant as John got between his legs. The unpresented student didn’t smell of arousal in the way John was used to – there was nothing to tell John’s subconscious mind that this man was for the taking. He had to use his eyes, his hands, and his mouth to know, instead.

It was like a challenge, a puzzle, a special secret that only he could solve.

John bent down and kissed Sherlock, taking his lips in a firm, possessive kiss that made the young man go pliant, and hitch a knee to get John’s pelvis closer. John’s hips rolled, his hard cock rubbing against Sherlock’s still-covered one so the student cried out, right into John’s mouth.

“Hush, love,” John murmured. “Someone will hear.”

“I know,” Sherlock’s eyes glittered, and he thrust up his hips, seeking John’s cock again – something an omega would not do, and John had to remind himself that this boy was not one – he was something else entirely, and that meant…

“We’ll need…er…”

“Lubrication,” Sherlock grinned, drawling the word out like it was utter filth. “And here,” he fished in his trouser pocket and drew out a dozen sachets. “They give them out free at Fresher’s Week.”

“Oh, thank god,” John laughed softly, returning his attentions to Sherlock’s throat, scenting and kissing and threatening to bite in ways that had the young man twitching and writhing for more touches, to escape, to chase John’s mouth and hands even as John began to push his bottoms out of the way.

Sherlock arched his back, and there was a moment of fumbling with their legs before the soft trousers were kicked off completely, and they were both naked, both looking at one another, both trembling with need.

John reached down, and took them both in hand, Sherlock’s slender, beta-average cock looking positively small against his own, which looked positively obscene. He pulled gently, letting Sherlock gasp, covering his mouth with his hands as John worked them together, heat against heat, hardness against growing hardness. John thumbed over Sherlock’s soft foreskin, pushing it down with his thumb, exposing the delicate and sensitive glans beneath, and feeling the slickness of pre-come leaking gently from the pin-prick hole at the tip.

Sherlock whined softly, hiding his face, now, his cock twitching as if he was close already.

But John was only just beginning.

He released his grip of them both, making the student whine at the loss of pressure, before pushing Sherlock’s legs apart and dragging his fingers, dry, through Sherlock’s arse crack. The smooth skin and tiny twists of hair made John’s cock throb with need, and he pressed finger against Sherlock’s tight hole, feeling the ridges and strength of the muscles, and tapping gently on the pink skin.

“Sherlock…” John asked, his voice low, “have you done this before, at all?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, quickly. Then – “No…. No, I mean…”

“Sherlock?”

“Only – only with my fingers,” Sherlock clarified, going red as if he was ashamed.

John thought it was possibly the sexiest thing he had ever heard – Sherlock, neither beta nor omega, reaching between his own legs and sliding his thin fingers into himself, feeling the ache of the stretch, seeking out his prostate, maybe with his other hand wrapped around his cock, pumping himself to orgasm as he fucked himself, hips bucking, on his fingers.

John grabbed one of the sachets of lube, and tore of open, smearing the stuff on his first two fingers before retuning his touches to Sherlock’s hole, beginning to ‘walk’ his fingers over Sherlock’s entrance, not pressing too hard, for now, as he kissed Sherlock’s stomach, the tops of his thighs, swirled his tongue around his navel, tasting the innocence of his scentless skin, before dragging his tongue over Sherlock’s hard cock and making him whine, then gasp as John thick middle finger pierced him to the middle knuckle.

“Ah!” Sherlock tensed, but only for a moment as John flexed his finger, and began to move, letting Sherlock’s hole adjust to the penetrating sensation, letting the soft, puffy skin’s sensitivity lessen, even as he sucked at the tip of the young man’s cock.

Sherlock tossed his head to the side, biting his hand before looking down again at what his tutor was doing to him. “John!”

“You’re so tight,” John breathed against Sherlock’s erection. “You’re going to feel so good on my cock. So tight, so wet… I’m going to stretch you so full you won’t be able to _see_.”

Sherlock moaned, his arse relaxing as he bore down on the welcome intrusion, and John’s finger slid in entirely, the bud of Sherlock’s pleasure just at the wrong angle…

“I’m going to add another,” John murmured. “Ok?”

“Yes!”

John’s finger withdrew, then returned, doubled, pushing into the student slowly, stretching his entrance, the resistance already lessening. And then John’s touch brushed over Sherlock’s prostate.

“Oh, fuck!” Sherlock cried, suddenly writhing to both get away and get John further inside. “Oh, fuck, was that –”

“Never found that yourself?” John kissed his cock.

“No… please!” Sherlock parted his legs further, utterly wantonly, and John’s began to finger-fuck him with purpose, not fast, but firmly, a steady stroke that was met with scissored fingers and deep, soft rubs against his prostate. Sherlock barely seemed to notice as John slid a third finger into him, more lubricant running down John’s hand, soaking Sherlock’s skin, dripping out of his entrance with every thrust.

“John, please,” Sherlock gasped, his hips starting to come back to meet John’s every thrust. “Please, I… Please!”

“Please, what?” John grinned, utterly loving watching Sherlock come undone.

“Please… get inside me,” the student blushed, hiding his face in the covers.

John smiled, withdrawing his fingers, and reached for two more sachets of lubricant. “Lie on your side, my angel, I’m going to get as deep inside you as I can.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but hey ho.

Sherlock turned onto his side, arching his back so his arse cheeks parted in welcome.

John ran a hand up and over the young man’s thigh, squeezing gently as the muscle as he slicked up his cock. His knot was already beginning to swell, though John knew he had no chance of knotting the student, not unless he wanted to cause him permanent damage. Only mature omegas could take an alpha’s knot, and even then, some of them only during heat.

Sherlock looked at him, at the weapon of his undoing in John’s hand. “John…”

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” John promised. “At any time. Even now.”

“No, I want to,” Sherlock breathed, “just… go slowly. Please.”

John leaned down to kiss his cheek, softly. “I will, my angel. You don’t have to be afraid…” he settled on the bed, behind Sherlock, and gently caressed the student’s cleft once again, adding more lubricant to the slightly swollen, soft skin of his entrance, doing what he could to ease penetration even as he slid three fingers inside once again, making Sherlock cry out in need.

John lifted Sherlock’s upmost leg, and with his other hand began firmly rubbing the hot head of his cock over Sherlock’s tight hole.

Sherlock gasped at the sensation, bearing down just slightly to feel the girth of what was going to be put inside him. He shuddered in John’s arms, then began rocking his body, just slightly, just enough to make John groan at the gradual press against his cock.

He pushed harder, feeling the tight ring of muscle give way, and the head of his cock get inside Sherlock.

“Oh!” Sherlock let his head fall forward, his leg slipping in John’s grip. “Oh, that’s… Ah.” He blew air through his lips, trying to relax.

“Want me to stop?” John asked, teeth gritted at the overwhelming need to thrust inside and _claim_ this person.

“No,” Sherlock sighed. “No, keep…”

John didn’t waste a second, taking hold of Sherlock’s leg to part his arse further open, and thrust, slowly as he could manage, further inside.

Sherlock didn’t resist, or cry out, but his eyes flew open in apparent shock. “Is – that – it?”

“Fuck,” John almost laughed. “About halfway, if you must know.”

“God!” Sherlock wailed. “I – I can’t…”

“I know,” John kissed his neck, kissed those ugly scars where another alpha had tried to claim him, tried to force him into being an omega. “S’ok…”

“Move,” Sherlock moaned, leaning into the kisses. “Please, please move, or –”

John rolled his hips, and Sherlock’s words dissolved into soft cries. The alpha was trembling with the held-back need to thrust and fuck, and instead kept up a steady pace that sent shocks and thrills of electric pleasure down his cock and over his skin. He could see, looking down, where the two of them were connected – where Sherlock’s tiny pink entrance was stretched, and red and taut around John’s thick alpha cock, the knot at the base swelling so badly. Lubricant leaked from Sherlock’s hole with every thrust, running down John’s cock, easing him further inside with every stroke until Sherlock hissed in pain, and John knew he’d found his limit.

“Oh god!” Sherlock gripped John’s wrist. His face was flushed pink, and so was his neck and chest, his cock jutting out, shining at the tip as pre-come ran from the hole.

“My Sherlock,” John growled, scraping his teeth along the bite-scars. “My Sherlock, my…” he thrust hard, and felt Sherlock’s body convulse as John’s cock rubbed over his prostate.

“Oh – oh – oh that’s…” Sherlock’s hips snapped back, seeking the same pleasure, and John was only too happy to give it, rocking his pelvis with purpose, now, the angle he needed just perfect, as he fucked the student he adored, listened to his soft cries of pleasure, felt his arse contract around his cock as he got close…

“John!” Sherlock reached for his own cock, desperation taking hold of him. John batted his hand away, and gripped the very base of Sherlock’s cock with his thumb and forefinger, willing him to last, but it was wonderfully too late.

Sherlock’s orgasm came as John thrust inside him again, making him sob with the sweet loss of control, his cock spilling over, white ropes of ejaculate hitting the bed as John gave in his fight with his own body, and held Sherlock’s hips still as he thrust quick – snaps of his hips that sent the alpha over the edge – and came deep inside the young man’s body, making him moan again.

“Oh god!” Sherlock gasped as John came and came, filling him up until he spilled over, hot come leaking from his insides, running down his legs.

John couldn’t answer. He had Sherlock’s scars between his teeth, and was employing every ounce of self-restraint he had not to bite down. This wasn’t an omega. This was Sherlock. This was his Sherlock. This was…

“…mine,” John sighed, nipping at the skin before letting go. It was all he could do. That, and pull Sherlock close, letting Sherlock’s body push him out as come soaked them both, and they lay together, sweating and shaking and marvelling at their own daring.

“I think I love you,” Sherlock breathed, his eyes closed.

“You think?” John kissed his shoulder.

“Mm. Will need to consider… other factors... post-coital high…” Sherlock’s breathing was slowing. “Biological response to… something.”

John smiled into the young man’s skin. “If it helps… I love you too.”

“That helps,” Sherlock nodded, before promptly falling asleep, and leaving John to clean up.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! NEWS !!!
> 
> A lot of you know already that I write professionally, but today I updated my Tumblr with *something VERY VERY exciting*! You can check it out @ Laiquilasse.tumblr.com, if you wish.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, too! xxx

John woke first, unused to the soft sounds of the house. He checked his watch, seeing that it was not long past seven.

Beside him, Sherlock breathed softly through his mouth, lips parted. He has a faint blush of sleep across his face, though the scars on his throat looked paler, less visible in the relaxation of his body.

John smiled, and inched closer, gently running his finger up Sherlock’s arm, memorising the touch of him, remembering their closeness of the night before.

Sherlock murmured, but didn’t wake up.

Truth be told, John had foolishly expected to wake up and find Sherlock in heat. There was anecdotal evidence that sex made omegas mature rapidly, to cope with what their bodies saw as an attempted mating. This wasn’t scientific, but John had almost believed it.

It looked as though Sherlock would be a beta, after all. And there was a lot of comfort in that. Despite the difficulties it would cause for his family, it would mean that Sherlock would be spared the ravages of going into heat and bearing children. It would mean that John’s love for him really was just that – love. Not pheromone-fuelled lust and bonding hormones. It was love.

And that made John’s heart sing.

Now, if Sherlock could just hurry up and _smell_ like a beta man…

“Mmf,” Sherlock snuggled into his pillow, and turned over, giving John the chance to be the big spoon, and hold him close. Sherlock tensed for a moment, then relaxed, remembering. “M’ning…”

“Morning, beautiful.”

“Mm.”

John kissed his shoulder. “I don’t suppose you’ve worked out what to say to your parents, at all?”

Sherlock sniffed. “Hadn’t exactly planned to roll a banner out.”

“They don’t have anosmia, though.” John kissed him again. “Besides, what if they find out your room wasn’t slept in?”

Sherlock made a groaning noise.

 

*

 

Sherlock’s parents weren’t their first encounter – Mycroft caught them coming out of John’s room, Sherlock in his dressing gown, having brought no clothes with him the night before.

“Slept well, did you?” Mycroft sniped, carrying his morning tea-tray.

“Yes, thank you, I was exhausted,” Sherlock quipped back, dashing over the landing to his room and slamming the door. Mycroft looked at John.

“Do you, er… need a hand with that?” John offered.

Mycroft’s lips went thin, as if he was either cross, or fighting off a smile. “No, thank you, Dr Watson, I’m sure I can manage.” And he trotted down the stairs, the china clinking slightly as he did so.

Sherlock appeared a moment later, changed into skinny jeans and a rugby top that made John want to eat him.

“Stop looking so bloody gorgeous,” he snarled, pulling Sherlock forward to scent the skin of his throat.

Sherlock’s knees went weak for a moment, and he clung to John’s jumper in a helpless sort of way that made something under John’s skin ignite. “John…”

“I know,” he kissed Sherlock’s jaw. “I know there’s not… But after last night… it’s like you’re mine.”

“Your mind is confused?” Sherlock frowned. “You think we’ve…”

“No, I don’t think so,” John clarified. “Rather… I feel like if you were to leave me… I would probably die.”

Sherlock’s eyes shone, and he puffed out what could only be described as a sigh of relief. “Me… me, too,” he whispered. “Thank god, I – I thought I was going mad.”

“Only as mad as the man you feel,” John teased, holding him close. He glanced down the stairs. “Ready to face the music?”

Sherlock sighed. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

 

*

 

John had expected glowers, glares, shouting even.

What he didn’t expect was Violet Holmes to stand up, fighting off happy tears, and come over and embrace Sherlock as though she hadn’t seen him for years.

“Forgive the forwardness,” she said, letting him go after he said she was going to break his ribs. “But, after last night… Well, come and take a seat and I’ll explain.”

John and Sherlock did so, looking up the table in bewilderment.

Violet dabbed at her eye with a handkerchief before smiling back down at them. “Apologies. Now… last night, Dr Watson, you said you’d be… happy. To wait for Sherlock to mature.”

“Yes,” John blushed. “I – I realise that, given the, er, circumstances –”

“Without focussing too much on the word _wait_ ,” Violet acquiesced, “I have to say I was somewhat… nervous. About the nature of your relationship. And whether or not you were serious about what you said.”

 _And you think because we’ve had sex that this is serious?_ John silently shouted.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Mummy, what exactly –”

“My darling youngest,” she beamed, “you’re practically aglow. With love.”

Sherlock went scarlet, and John took his hand beneath the table.

“Mummy…”

She waved off her son’s embarrassment. “And what’s more important, is that I can see, and scent, the attachment John has bestowed on you, too.” She looked at John kindly. “You do love my son, do you not?”

“I… Yes,” John said, joining Sherlock in his blushing. “I… love Sherlock.” Sherlock squeezed his hand so tight John feared for his bones.

Violet smiled wider. “You are making this old woman very happy, John. And the fact you say you will stay with Sherlock no matter the outcome of his maturity… To be frank with you, it opened my eyes.” She steepled her fingers in the same way John had seen Sherlock do so often. “For so long, my mate and I’s focus has been on inheritance, on finding mates for our children. But it should have been on their happiness. Sherlock has found you. Who is to say that Eurus, ill as he is, cannot find someone of his own to love?” She looked suddenly sad. “I fear I have wasted a great deal of time, indeed.”

“But if Sherlock presents omega,” Siger Holmes interrupted, “his claim still overrides that of Eurus, provided he is bonded by the time we pass away.”

“And if he is a beta, then… now, I only wish to see him happy,” Violet said, her voice breaking.

“Mummy,” Sherlock choked out, his hand still doing damage to John’s joints. “Mummy, you… you told me I had to find a mate. You told me I had to. Look – look at my neck!” he wrenched his hand free, and yanked down his collar, exposing the ugly bite-mark. “This is what an alpha did to me when he learned that. To try and get me to present omega. Have you any idea?”

Violet’s shining eyes overflowed. “Oh, Sherlock…”

“He bit me, Mother,” Sherlock’s voice was rising. “He bit me and tore me, and scarred me, and all because I said that I was _looking_ for a mate. That’s what sort of dangerous position you put me in, don’t you see?”

“I do see, and I am so sorry,” she stood, and walked over, hesitating before lifting a hand.

Sherlock looked away, but left his neck exposed so his mother’s slender fingers could run over the distorted skin. John could see she was trembling.

“Can… can you feel –”

“No,” Sherlock said.

His father let out a low snarl, and John tensed, as if he was the culprit.

“John treated me,” Sherlock added. “Without him… It could have been worse.”

Violet took her hand away, and Sherlock adjusted his shirt again. “It seems you have been very lucky, in some respects. All I can do is apologise to you. I never considered the burden I was putting you under, Sherlock. I am so sorry.”

Sherlock’s face softened, just a touch. “Thank you.”

Violet still looked upset.

Siger cleared his throat. “Perhaps, given the circumstances… It’d be appropriate for me to try and make amends,” he took an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket, and slid it over to Sherlock, who picked it up, questioningly. “Something to mark a fresh start.”

Sherlock tore open the envelope, and pulled out some folded papers, which he read, and then looked up in shock. “Father?”

Siger smiled.

“What is it?” John leaned to see.

Sherlock just turned the page to show him.

 

_Property Deed of Ownership_

 

John gasped. “For you?”

“For you both,” Siger corrected him. “If you wish.”

John’s chest hurt as though there were metal bands across it. Sherlock looked ready to sob at any moment.

They looked at one another.

And smiled.

 

*

 

“There’s another bedroom, upstairs, if you’ll be needing two bedrooms?” the housekeep said as she showed them into their new flat.

“We won’t,” Sherlock said, taking the key. “Thank you.”

John hid his laugh by looking out the window at the busy street below. “I can’t believe this is ours,” he said, once the door closed behind the housekeeper.

“I think they had a lot of guilt,” Sherlock said, embracing him from behind. “But they can’t buy their way out of that. They’re going to have to prove it a lot more.”

“Mm,” John took Sherlocks hands in his own. “And how would you like them to do that?”

“Go and see Eurus,” Sherlock said. “Come and see me. Stop bothering Mycroft. They think we’re all children. I think this… us… has come as a shock. Though, a rightly-timed one.”

“I think you’re right,” John turned, so they ended up chest-to-chest. “And what about us? Do we keep going?”

“As long as you can stand it,” Sherlock shrugged, though he didn’t look John in the eye. “Still no signs of maturing. I might be like this forever. A genderless freak.”

“You are not a freak,” John said softly, running his thumb over Sherlock’s lower lip. “You’re Sherlock, you’re perfect, and you’re mine.”

“But what if –”

“I don’t care.”

“Even if –”

“I _really_ don’t care,” John smiled. “When will you believe me?”

Sherlock leaned in, then, his lips hovering just above John’s. “Soon, I hope.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for the main chapters!
> 
> Stay tuned for the Epilogue, and thank you for all your support for this fic.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, all, so much, everyone who has read and supported this fic, and ESPECIALLY everyone who has downloaded a copy of my ebook (see my Tumblr). You guys are the best, and I owe you all so much. Bless you. xx

**Epilogue**

**Nine Years Later**

Sherlock graduated, and John managed to hold onto his job, though there was a shaky moment when the head of John’s department found out, a few months before Sherlock was due to leave. The HOD had decided to overlook the issue, taking into account the fact Sherlock and John were already living together, and the fact that John had offered to resign. John’s offer was declined, and he continued lecturing for another couple of years, before leaving, and working alongside Sherlock.

The early flair Sherlock had shown for deduction had blossomed into a career, and he soon began ‘consulting’ for the police in criminal investigations. Along with Mycroft still handing him work, their London flat became a haven of books and cases and work and love.

And all the while, Sherlock remained Unpresented.

When he hit thirty, Sherlock took himself to the doctor, again, and had several scans and blood tests, all of which told the same story – that he had either beta or omega physiology, but there was no determiner in his blood or hormones to swing his designation either way. He was sterile, without heats, and otherwise in perfect health.

John told him, yet again, that he didn’t care, and they went to bed that night in a lurid frenzy of kisses and bare skin and touches that radiated out from fingers down to the most secret places within them.

And life seemed pretty much perfect.

“Sherlock,” John kicked the door shut, behind him. “I’m back. They didn’t have any of that bread, I’ll have to go back out,” he kicked his shoes off and started up the stairs.

“John?!” Sherlock’s voice came from above, slightly high-pitched, as if he was about to be caught. The lounge door was shut, which was unusual.

“You ok?” John carried the shopping bag up. “You’re not doing anything weird, are you?”

“No, I…”

John opened the lounge door.

He dropped the shopping bag.

Something smashed.

John did not care.

He inhaled, the sweet, cloying scent of omega-in-heat sticking to the back of his throat, drowning his lungs, making his blood rush, his skin prickle, and his cock instantly harden.

Somehow, he kicked the door closed.

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, trembling from head to foot, sweat beading his brow, hands clenched on the chair’s upholstery as he looked at John in terror. “John… I…”

“Oh, fuck,” John dropped to his knees, the scent almost knocking him out. “Oh, fuck. Oh. Oh, Sherlock…” he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “When?”

“Hour ago,” Sherlock gasped back, then bent over with a groan, clutching his stomach. “Uhh… John!”

John moaned, his cock straining in his pants already. “Get – get up. Get up, Sherlock,” he tried to use his medical authority voice, but it came out like an alpha’s snarl.

An alpha’s command, that Sherlock responded to like a shot, standing, and looking on, head lowered, submissive, as John got to his feet.

“Get – bathroom – then – bedroom,” John pointed, having Sherlock standing so close was making him want to tackle him.

Luckily, Sherlock moved quickly, and John could hear him stripping off in the bathroom, clattering around even as John threw himself into their bedroom, and started yanking his clothes off.

Sherlock in heat. Sherlock in heat. After all this time… Sherlock was an _omega_.

John barely had time to process any further before the sound of water running was followed by Sherlock banging open the bathroom door, stark naked, flushed pink on his chest and neck, shaking like a leaf.

“John…” he choked out, “John, I didn’t do anything. It just…” he whined, legs shaking harder at some pain or other. “Why does it hurt?”

“First time,” John same over, taking him in his arms. “Overdue. Your muscles aren’t used to it… Fuck, you smell incredible,” he kissed Sherlock on the throat, on those old scars that had never faded, then began licking at the same spot, tasting the sweat on Sherlock’s skin, the heady pheromones flooding his system, the fertility he now possessed… “I love you, oh god, you’re my omega. I love you. Sherlock…”

“John!” Sherlock gripped John hard, and then –

Another scent rose into the air.

Like pure sex.

Like honey over sugar over marzipan.

Sherlock gasped.

John almost lost it. “Bed,” he managed to say, pushing Sherlock in that direction.

The new omega climbed gingerly onto the sheets, slick dampening his arse and the backs of his thighs.

But there was no time for caution.

John stroked his hand down Sherlock’s back, making the omega bend over, exposing himself instantly, submissively, legs apart. The crease of his arse was soaking, slick tricking from his hole, that was already pink and swollen, blood rushing to the area to assist the stretch.

Because John was about to knot Sherlock for the first time.

“John, please,” Sherlock breathed, breaking the spell, slightly. “Please, it… I need –” his words were cut off into a filthy moan.

John hadn’t been able to resist. He licked firmly at Sherlock’s twitching entrance, dragging his tongue over the puffy skin, tasting that new omega slick, that gorgeous pure sex that made his alpha cock ache. He traced a finger around Sherlock’s perineum, then pushed inside him, Sherlock’s body offering no resistance at all, and the tiny penetrating digit being acknowledged with a sad cry.

“More! More, please! Please, John!”

John thrust in a second finger, teasing any exposed skin he could get to with his tongue, swallowing as another gush soaked his chin and ran down Sherlock’s legs.

“Oh god!” Sherlock twitched backwards, searching for more, his in-heat body in complete control of his mind.

“Fuck,” John snarled, dragging his fingers out, and adding a third, curling them to reach Sherlock’s prostate. He brushed over the sensitive spot, and the writhing omega wailed, and then immediately came, his arse contracting around John’s fingers as he spilled onto the sheets.

It gave Sherlock less than ten seconds of mental stability. But he used them well.

“John – it’s ok – knot me – bite me – I want you – please – it’s all I’ve wanted – just do this – please…” he collapsed again, arse in the air, his twitching hole begging for cock.

John knelt up, taking his cock in hand – it was harder, larger, than he’d known it for years. His knot was already swelling, and John was certain that this time it would end buried inside Sherlock’s body. He parted Sherlock’s arse cheeks with a hand, and rubbed the thick head of his cock on the still-small-looking hole, biting his lip as he restrained himself from just plunging in.

“Ffffffuck me,” Sherlock sobbed, his begging turning to desperate moans as John pushed inside him. His entrance was a hundred times more sensitive than usual, and eager to be fucked.

John kept on pushing inside, waiting for the usual tense and ‘stop’ that came when they had anal sex – Sherlock could usually only take him so far. But this time… John thrust in to the hilt, seating himself entirely inside the man he loved, his swelling knot pushing against Sherlock’s prostate and making the omega shudder and groan.

“Oh god,” John gasped, leaning over and kissing every bit of Sherlock’s skin he could reach. “Oh god, my Sherlock. My omega…”

“My alpha,” Sherlock sighed, arching his back, craning his neck, exposing where John had to bite – right atop those old scars. “Bond with me.”

“Fuck,” John groaned, snapping his hips back and forth, his knot sliding over Sherlock’s stretched skin, making him cry out as it bumped back against his prostate. John couldn’t hold back – the scent was too much, the urge was too much – _Sherlock_ was too much. He grappled Sherlock’s hips, hard enough to bruise, pulling Sherlock’s body back to meet his every thrust with a slap of skin on skin, drowned out only by their matching cries as they not only fucked, but _mated_ for the first time.

Sherlock came again, near-dry as a few splatters of come hit the bedsheets, his entrance contracting around John’s cock so he could no longer get his knot out. John changed his thrust, moving shallowly, yet still as hard, rubbing Sherlock’s g-spot from the side even as he squeezed and milked every drop from his spent cock.

And then –

“Fuck!” John lurched forward, knocking Sherlock’s head to the side with his own, and bit down, hard, through scar tissue, breaking the skin, tasting blood even as his knot swelled to fruition in Sherlock’s tight arse, trapping him inside his body, locking them together physically, as John’s bite locked them together in a way that was much, much deeper.

It took twenty minutes for them to come unstuck. And in that time, they both cried, they both laughed, and they stayed wrap in one another’s arms as though they would die otherwise. It was exactly as it should be.

“How long do these things last?” Sherlock mumbled, his eyes closed.

“Heats? A few days. Maybe a bit longer, since you’re… late.” John kissed his shoulder. “Are you ok?”

“More than ok,” Sherlock didn’t open his eyes, but pulled John’s arm around himself. “I finally got what I wanted. Oh! And so did Mummy.”

“Please don’t mention your mother when my knot is up your arse,” John sighed.

“Sorry. But… You know what this means?”

“I get to be Lord Holmes, one day?”

“Or we could spend all the money on converting the spare room into a laboratory,” Sherlock suggested.

“I think we might need that spare room,” John said.

Sherlock opened his eyes. “Why?”

John didn’t say anything, just put a hand on Sherlock’s abdomen.

Sherlock blinked rapidly, then smiled, and put his own hand over the top.

 


End file.
